


It Being Late, You'd Like Some Company

by DoorKeeper9



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Solo is a Mess, Ben has nightmares, Ben has repressed memories, Boss/Employee Relationship, Come for the smut and dynamic stay for the "WTF is up with this apartment?", Consensually painful sex (ch. 22), Cum Fetish, Depressive episode (ch. 21+22), Did I accidentally write a Rapunzel AU?, Drunk Sex, Drunk Texting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of a slow burn, My fic aesthetic is Act Soft Fuck Hard, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing a Room, Sleepovers, Snoke is the Worst, Some Angst with a Happy Ending, With a twist of City Gothic, Y'all know they're gonna fuck in the restaurant right?, fast food au, mild exhibitionism, skip to chapter 8 if you're on a one-handed mission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 109,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoorKeeper9/pseuds/DoorKeeper9
Summary: Rey is trying and failing to live off of an Americorps stipend in NYC, so she’s forced to take a second job off the books at a First Order fast food joint. Ben Solo is the icy manager who happens to own the whole building and live above the restaurant. Rey needs a place to crash and Ben needs to keep his secrets, but both things might not be possible with Snoke running the show.
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1119
Kudos: 1388





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The concept for this fic sprang into my head before I even knew how to write it, and tbh I'm still figuring out how to write it, so any comments or kudos will be appreciated! I like to pretend TROS didn't actually happen, so this fic will have TLJ vibes, with Snoke making an appearance. And of course there will be smut!
> 
> Title taken from Closing Time by Tom Waits

Rey wakes up early. Again.

Her phone alarm buzzes obnoxiously by her ear, but her hand is already on its way up to slap it off before she’s fully conscious, as if her body’s been waiting all night for this moment. Maybe it has been; she hasn’t been sleeping well lately, what with the heavy metal music coming from the upstairs neighbor and the late night laughs of her college-age roommates echoing under her closed door. She knows she shouldn’t resent them for having a good time, but, well… _Maybe_ , she thinks, pushing herself out of her blankets, _if you weren’t a crusty old fart at 23, you wouldn’t resent them for laughing._

Rey scans her room briefly from the edge of her bed, scratching her thigh. It’s a narrow and slanted space with a window that faces a wedge of an alley, letting in nothing but blue ghostly light even at noon in the summer. Her books are stacked three-deep in a couple of milk crates, and her courageous poinsettia uses the relative height of the crates to soak up every last drop of the window’s ambient lighting. Rey finally spots her towel hanging off of the closet’s doorknob and stands up to grab it before heading out of her room to the shower.

It isn’t a bad apartment by any means, Rey considers as she soaps up her hair. It’s cozy, and having 5 other roommates means the rent is incredibly cheap by NYC standards. But if she’s being honest with herself, Rey is only here because one of those roommates is Finn. Finn, who is one of the few Columbia students Rey has met who actually worked his way through college, taking a waitstaff job off-campus in addition to his work study job and on top of his already ridiculous courseload. Finn, who was just bland enough- or maybe just kind enough- to slip past the prickly persona Rey maintained while working at the Millennium Diner. Rey normally kept her distance from everyone, customers and coworkers alike, but Finn actually made her laugh and look forward to coming to work, and there was never any catch. She’d never admitted it to him, but the thought of him leaving the city after graduation was enough to send twin stabs of pain and panic ricocheting through her heart. Luckily, though, Finn didn’t leave. Not yet, at least. He went straight on to a master’s program at Columbia, and when a room opened up at his apartment…

“To think,” says Finn, waiting sleepily outside of the bathroom when Rey exits. “A few months ago I would have never seen you wearing only a towel at…” he checks his phone “...this ungodly hour.”

“Lucky you,” snorts Rey, adjusting said towel. “Water’s seeping out from the bottom of the tub again. Enjoy my dirt water on your toes.”

“Thanks,” he yawns.

Rey smiles a little as Finn shuffles past her and she walks back to her bedroom. She _does_ like living here most of the time. She likes feeling like she’s a part of something, even if their other 4 roommates are excitable undergrads who guffaw at Youtube videos late into the night. Rey is the only one of them who has a 8-4 job to get up for, and she’s definitely the only one of them with an 8-4 job _and_ a separate 7pm-5am job on the weekends, with occasional night shifts during the week. 

Thus not sleeping well lately. Thus waking up early. Again. 

\----------

“Ms. Jakku! Look what I made!”

Rey looks up wearily from the spelling tests she’s grading. A blotchy pink and purple Rorschach test looms in her face; for a moment, it looks like two figures dueling. Then she blinks, and looks over at the tiny face hovering beside the picture.

“It’s beautiful, Aaliyah,” she says, “...what is it?”

“My dog and my cat!” squeals Aaliyah. She points at the mostly pink blob first, then the mostly purple one.

“Oh...yeah!” Rey recovers, smiling at her student. “Why don’t you paint another one at your desk?”

Aaliyah bounces away and Rey looks back down at the papers in front of her. It’s art right now, so technically her lunch break, but the lead teacher needs these grades entered by tomorrow morning and Rey will be at her other job tonight. It’s not like second grade spelling tests are _difficult_ to grade, but the stack seems particularly daunting on a bad night’s sleep. And her stomach is growling.

In a moment of weakness, Rey considers begging off. If she tells Phasma she has a gig tonight, that she’s working, maybe Phasma will take over the grading and Rey will have time to eat her sandwich. _Or maybe_ , thinks Rey glumly, _she’ll report you_ . Because unfortunately, this teaching assistant position is through Americorps VISTA, and VISTAs are expressly not allowed to have a second job. _Expressly._

Rey doesn’t _want_ to have a second job. But she also wants to stay housed, fed, and clothed (in that order), and even applying for food stamps has barely kept her afloat when combined with her pitiful stipend. Which is why she’s found herself a sketchy second job pays only in cash. A sketchy second job she’ll be working in just a few hours.

Sighing, Rey lifts her pen and starts tackling the tests.

\----------

Much later that night, Rey slaps a sausage patty on the caked black griddle and looks around for a clean-ish egg ring. Her hair is up and secured in a hair net, but sweat is already staining the inner band of her First Order hat. It’s kind of a miracle that she’s still upright. 

“Four chickens in the fryer, 1 sausage egg biscuit,” calls Rose. 

Rey glances up at Rose, tonight’s cashier. A somewhat orderly line of tipsy customers stretches out from the counter, groups of people packed onto stools on either side. It’s been this packed since 10pm, so Rey’s been busting out orders like a robot, completely caught up in the rhythm of Feeding the Horde. It’s somewhere between 1 and 2am now, so this crowd is mostly jovial late-night diners who are one biscuit away from calling a cab home. The more memorable customers tend to show up between 2-3am after the normal clientele have thinned out. It’s a cosmic law that nobody getting a biscuit at 3am is their best self, which leads to more...challenging...orders and ordeals. Like the time someone brought in a bottle of liquor and wanted to drink it in full view of the glass storefront.

Rey remembers exactly how that went down.

“You can’t drink that in here,” Ben had said quietly.

“I’m just gonna finish what I have here,” the customer said, biscuit in one hand oozing butter, copiously full liquor bottle held in the other.

“We don’t have a liquor license.” 

Ben’s already deep voice had dropped to an even lower octave, which normally froze rowdy customers and made Rey’s spatula stutter on the grill. This guy was too drunk to pick up on the warning cue, though.

“We’re all friends here,” slurred the drunk, dropping his biscuit on the table and starting to crack open the cap of his Jim Beam.

_“Stop.”_

Maybe it was the _force_ of Ben’s voice, but his command pulled something deep in Rey, and she stopped half-assing what she was doing to fully watch.

Ben had his massive hand on the drunk’s bottle, making the pint look like a normal man’s 12oz. The unfortunate drunk had frozen with the cap still off in his hand, finally realizing the size of the manager facing him. Ben pulled the bottle inexorably from his grip.

“I’m going to take this outside,” said Ben levelly, “I’m going to pour it out onto the sidewalk. If you still want it then, you can lick it off the asphalt, but _not in my store._ ”

And Ben walked out and did just that. 

Rey had worked places where a threat like that would have set off a huge fight. The burger chain in high school, for example, where her manager had (stupidly) punched a customer in the face and then been piled on by the guy’s waiting friends. Most of Rey’s other ex-managers would have let the drunk drink his Jim Beam until his bladder sent him wandering away again. But Ben wasn’t like most people. He was the manager at this First Order, and authority poured off of him like a stifling fog. He was large, for one thing. Not just tall- he loomed over Rey- but broad across the chest, and his biceps strained his black shirtsleeves even at rest. And he never seemed at rest. His long fingers always tapped and twitched, as though he were constantly on the verge of acting and barely holding himself back in time. In contrast his face was unnaturally flat, the ingredients of a handsome face all there, but something _withdrawn_ in a way that made the brown eyes and full lips seem mask-like. Ben seemed to stalk through the store, elevating pulses and imposing order wherever he went. When he supervised a shift he alternated between working the back office and settling in corners to keep an eye on the staff; Rey would sometimes catch his eyes tracking her in an otherwise still face.

Rose, one of the chattier cashiers, had voiced the common opinion of the First Order staff. “He’s not a psychopath,” she said, “but if he has bodies upstairs I would _not_ be surprised.”

It is plausible, Rey supposes. After all, Ben Solo, intimidating manager of First Order Crown Heights, happens to live above the store. 

\---------

It’s 4am, and Rey finally gets to turn off the fryers.

“What a night,” groans Rose, scrubbing a hand down her face. “That last group paid me in nickels. Fucking _nickels.”_

Rey snorts, a smile flitting across her normally guarded face. Rey’s been working at First Order for a couple of months now, and Rose has grown on her.

“Could have been pennies,” supplies Rey. “I’ve had a guy tip me with a roll of pennies.” 

Rose scoffs in disgust. “That’s what, 50 cents?” 

“Yep. And it wasn’t even once,” Rey continues, “he was a regular. Every time he shuffled in for his western omelette, the waitstaff would scatter.”

“People,” Rose says emphatically. 

“People,” Rey agrees.

“People. The till isn’t going to balance itself.”

Rose immediately straightens and Rey turns to see Ben behind her, arms crossed over his chest. Rey’s gaze takes a moment to move north of his arms- there are some very absorbing lines of muscle there, and they’re filling her entire view- but he’s looking over her head at Rose with flat annoyance.

“Yes sir, right away sir,” says Rose hastily. That would be overkill with anyone else, but they had both been working the night when Ben lost his shit at a short-lived employee. The guy- Noah, maybe? _-_ had been chatting with Rey at the end of their shift. Chatting _at_ was more accurate, since Rey wasn’t interested and Noah definitely was. Ben had appeared abruptly from the back office and asked Noah to prep slaw. Noah hadn’t turned around, casually saying he’d get to it. A few moments later both Noah and Rey jumped about a foot when something _slammed_ against the kitchen wall. They whirled around in shock, and Ben calmly picked up another metal tub of slaw and hurled it right at the wall where the other had gone. Slaw sprayed and the stainless steel dented.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Noah yelled, a little high pitched.

Ben chucked the last tub near Noah’s feet, soaking the guy’s jeans with pickling liquid. Ben’s face was flat, only his flared nostrils betraying exertion.

“No,” he said, “I”m out of slaw. Make more.” 

Remembering that now, Rey hastily wipes her hands on her apron. “I’ll go mop down the back,” she supplies.

Ben’s eyes flick down to her face. They linger for a moment, then he nods and glances away.

“I’ll be in the back office.”He turns around, his broad frame disappearing back down the corridor. Once it’s safe, Rose widens her eyes emphatically at Rey and mouths _wow._ Rey shakes her head slightly and makes her way after their unsettling manager- at a safe distance, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's at the end of her rope, but only one of the men in her life is sympathetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's left kudos or commented so far! Seriously, it's meant the world. I was basically Rey at work last week, but I could always count on the notifications to bring a huge smile to my face. 
> 
> I've written so much smut and fluff for this story, but alas, the plot must thicken first. At least we get to see these idiots talk to each other!

Rey’s head jerks up, mouth snapping shut. For what feels like a long, gray moment, she doesn’t really know where she is or how she got here. Then her fingers brush over the hard plastic of a subway seat.

“Fuck,” she mutters, sitting back and weakly rubbing her eyes. A couple of MTA employees are sweeping the train car and chatting to each other; their loud voices continue to pull Rey out from her unexpectedly deep sleep. It’s Wednesday morning, and Rey’s just worked a dreaded weeknight shift at First Order. Rey had boarded the train a bit after 4:30am in Brooklyn and closed her eyes- just for a moment, she’d thought- in a car filled with several other late-night travellers.

Now Rey looks blearily out the window and sees the name of the station.

“Fuuuuck!” she groans more emphatically, rubbing her face harshly to fully wake herself up. She’s missed her stop. _Again_. This is actually the ass end of the train line, and morning commuters are starting to fill the empty seats around her in the growing daylight. They spare a few sidelong glances at the girl swearing loudly to herself. Totally oblivious, Rey pulls out her phone, checks the time, and does some quick mental calculations. She has about an hour to go home, change out of her grungy First Order uniform, possibly nap, and then get back on the train in professional clothes to go to work in Brooklyn. They have a parent meeting at 8am at school and Phasma is going to kill her if Rey hasn’t printed the necessary materials beforehand.

Rey takes a quick whiff under her arm. Does she still smell like grease? Does she need to allott precious time for a shower? She checks herself out in her phone camera: pale from exhaustion, hair in a messy bun, a smattering of freckles clinging stubbornly to her face though it’s been weeks since she hung out outdoors. She tries her best parent-appeasing smile, and it looks positively ghoulish. 

Rey slumps back in her seat, depressed, ignoring the commuters to either side of her. No shower is going to fix this. No cup of coffee is going to make two hours of sleep feel like eight.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she mutters out loud. The older woman on her left glances at her as if to say _I agree_ before burying her nose back in a book.

\-----

“You could just quit, right?” asks Finn later that night.

“Right,” says Rey flatly. She’s draped full length along their couch, one arm covering her eyes. She pulls it up just enough to expose one reddened eye. “So, you’re cool paying my entire rent, then?”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Finn hurries to say, “I know you need the extra work. I’m just wondering if there’s something else you could do instead of First Order? Be a dog walker or something. Do Postmates on the weekends.”

Rey sighs and drops her arm fully off of her face. Finn is sitting across from her on the other living room couch, picking at a quart of Chinese food. Miraculously, their busy schedules have overlapped tonight. Finn had been in the middle of studying, but Rey couldn’t help venting about the morning’s missed stop, groggy parent-teacher conference, and the night shift that had caused it all.

“I can’t do anything that doesn’t pay in cash,” she reminds them both. “I don’t know what happens if Americorps finds out I have a second job, but I don’t want to find out.” She fidgets with the buttons on her shirt, staring up at the ceiling. “Teaching is what I _actually_ want to do, I can’t mess that up.” 

“I know,” says Finn soothingly.

“Sometimes I wonder if...if I’m even in the right place.” Rey’s almost talking to herself. “This city is so damn expensive. Maybe they’re desperate for teachers in Wyoming, or Arkansas. I could do Teach for America or something. Leave this behind.”

Unkar Plutt’s gravelly voice rears up from her memories, sneering.

 _“Move out,”_ he spat, _“You’ll be back. You can’t handle it out there.”_

Rey’s fingers clench involuntarily, tearing a button loose from her blouse.

“Shit.” She blinks down at her hands, then over at Finn, who’s looking at her with a worried crease in his brow, Chinese food forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Finn,” she says, forcing a weak smile. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just tired, I guess.”

Finn doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he smiles at her in his easy way, radiating the same warmth that drew her in a year ago. 

“It’s ok, Peanut. Whatever you want to do, I’m on your side.”

Rey’s smile broadens into a natural one. Wyoming and Arkansas can’t hold a candle to this city, when she has a friend like Finn in it. She pushes herself upright on the couch, feeling 30% more like a living person.

“I’m going to do something about it,” Rey declares. “When I got hired at First Order they said I’d only work weekends. I’ll just talk to the manager about it.”

Finn’s expression falters.

“The guy with dead bodies upstairs?”

“ _Allegedly_.”

Finn purses his lips. “You know what? Not reassuring.”

Rey laughs.

“Finn,” she says, “he’s just weird. Kind of uptight. I’m sure he’s not a _monster_.”

\---

Despite her assertion to Finn, Rey is nervous all throughout her Friday shift at First Order. She’s distracted enough to miss a couple of orders, which is unusual for her. When Ben Solo comes to survey the front of house, Rey’s pulse pounds in her ears, drowning out the chatter of customers. She stares down at the eggs frying on the griddle, taking deep breaths, willing her body to control itself. It’s probably her nerves, but it seems like every time she sneaks a glance over at her manager, he’s already staring back at her.

Finally, during a lull in service, Rey stops putting off the inevitable. She takes a deep breath and raps lightly on the back office door. The manager’s office is set at the very back of the restaurant, past the cashier and front kitchen, down the corridor, alongside the walk-in fridge and larger kitchen area. The office has an unassuming wooden door, but staff normally swerve to avoid it like there’s a magnetic force repelling them. Not unreasonable, given the occupant and his infamous temper.

Rey waits a long moment, then knocks again more firmly. Finally:

“Come in.”

Rey squares her shoulders and twists the doorknob, opening her way into Ben Solo’s inner sanctum. They’re tight quarters; just a narrow shelf, a wooden desk, and two chairs, one of which is occupied by her manager.

Ben’s head is bent over what looks like some kind of purchase order, and for a moment his dark hair and dark clothes almost make him invisible in his black leather chair. Then he looks up imperiously and his pale face shatters the impression. Rey is glad he’s sitting so he can’t physically intimidate her, but even from a seated position Ben emits a take-no-shit-attitude that puts Rey on defensive. He lifts one dark eyebrow, and Rey realizes she’s staring at him like a cowed rabbit. 

“Hey,” she begins, shoving down a blush. “I have a question about the schedules.”

Ben’s eyebrow rises slightly higher, but otherwise he gives no reaction. Rey plunges ahead.

“I saw that I’m working Tuesday, Wednesday, _and_ Thursday next week, and that’s going to be really hard for me to pull off. I’m going to ask around to see if someone can cover my shifts.”

Ben puts his pen down. His face is calm, but Rey knows better than to trust that.

“I’ve assigned you several week nights this month, and you’ve gotten almost all of them covered. Aren’t you out of favors?”

Rey opens her mouth, then closes it abruptly. “I mean-yes, but it’s because I can’t work those shifts. I have a day job.”

“So?” An edge has entered his tone.

“I- I _teach_ ,” stumbles Rey, “It’s a long day in front of the kids-” 

“Irrelevant.” Ben lifts one hand to cut her off. “I hired you to do one job, _this_ job. If you’re only working the weekend, then you’re not doing much of that job, are you?” He sits back, steepling his fingers. “Maybe I should just pay the people covering your shift to permanently cover your duties.”

Rey’s stomach sinks at the same time it bubbles with annoyance. She’s heard versions of this speech many times from her part-time employers; it costs them nothing to question her, while it’s taken her years to build up the confidence to rebut them. To fight for herself.

Rey crosses her arms over her chest, reaching for that confidence now.

“What,” she scoffs, “you’re going to trust _Mitaka_ to fry ‘til 5am without burning his own face off?”

Ben’s lips seem to twitch to the side for a moment, but she must have imagined it. Rey feels a moment of guilt for throwing Mitaka under the bus, but...come on. Mitaka must go through a bottle of beard oil a week trying to tame that wild animal clutching his face.

Encouraged, Rey takes a more aggressive approach. “ _You_ hired me in person, Ben. You knew that I couldn’t work weeknights and you said that it wasn’t a problem.”

Ben’s expression ripples slightly with what might be discomfort. At his name? Rey realizes she hasn’t really used it before.

“I don’t have any record of that,” he says carefully. 

“Well,” continues Rey, frustration building, “we didn’t write it out on paper, but that was also part of the agreement. You said I could start that weekend, that I only had to work weekends, and that you’d pay in cash. We _shook_ on it.” 

Ben’s dark eyes are intent on her face.

“Yes, we did,” he says gravely.

Rey uncrosses her arms.

“Well there you have it, then!” Rey says triumphantly. She presses her advantage, leaning forward to jab the desk with her pointer for emphasis. “I’m one of your best weekend employees, and we both know that. I work the grill and the fryers, cashier, prep, whatever. I work hard, I work late, and I come in every single weekend, no excuses.”

“So do I,” says Ben with some amusement, “ _and_ I work every week night, no excuses.”

“Well that’s because you-” Rey stops mid sentence, her passion having got the better of her. Ben’s eyes immediately narrow, all amusement gone.

“Because I what?” he says.

“Because you, uh,” Rey flounders.

“ _What._ ”

“Youuuu have an easier time. Getting here.” Rey supplies weakly. _You live in a coffin above the store_ . _You only rise from the dead to haunt us._

Ben’s eyes are still narrowed. Then he _stands up_ , which makes everything worse because even across the desk he seems 3 feet taller than her and carved from a mountain.

“You’re having a hard time getting to work?” he asks flatly.

“Well- well, yes-”

“Not my problem,” he snaps, nostrils flaring. “Consider yourself on probation. You work all of those shifts next week. You make it work, or you don’t work here. I don’t care what you _mis_ -remember me saying before. Understood?”

Rey’s fists clench by her sides and she unconsciously rises on the balls of her feet, trying to match his height. For a fiery moment she wants to spit at him. He’s leaning over the desk, she’s leaning in, there’s a matching heat and a spark in his eyes...

Then she plants her feet again and rearranges her face. Her mask goes back up. So does his.

“Sure, Solo,” she says coldly.

She turns on her heel and exits the office, not looking back at the black-hearted asshole she leaves behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey works three overnight shifts in a row and it goes just badly as you would expect...and then it goes completely unexpectedly.
> 
> AKA if you play chicken with Ben Solo's feelings you're gonna get hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU to everyone for your comments and kudos, they make me so excited to keep writing! This chapter is double the length of my previous chapters; I felt like all 3 days of Rey's shifts should be included in one chapter, plus the Reylo interactions are really starting build up. Also I unexpectedly veered into Hurt/Comfort territory! It's my absolute favorite trope so I guess I shouldn't be surprised...but on that note, take this as a PSA to never do what Rey does. I don't know from personal experience if it would be as projectile as I've imagined here, but the physical reaction is very real.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

The rest of Rey’s shift that night goes by in a blur, her actions fueled by an anger as hot and foul as the deep fat fryers. She scrapes patties off the griddle with a metallic screech, slams a new tray of biscuits into the front oven with unnecessary force. Rose, who’s manning the cash register with weary cheer, keeps glancing back at her with a worried expression. Rey ignores her, seething.

Ben Solo may not be a monster, but he sure is a son of a bitch.

Rey replays their conversation a thousand times in her mind. In retrospect, the most frustrating part about their encounter is that she had almost  _ had _ him. He’d seemed agreeable- or at least, willing to put aside his power trip- right before Rey stepped in it with that unspoken insult. If she’d just stuck to her message, remembered who she was talking to, she probably could have worked only one shift next week instead of three. That would have been better, at least. Anything would be better than 3 straight weeknight shifts. 

_ But it’s not my fault!  _

Frustrated, Rey grabs a near-empty bin of slaw and heads to the back kitchen. Connix is already there doing prep, but Rey tersely negotiates a switch. Slicing cabbage is oddly soothing work, and Rey needs to calm herself down before she gets in any worse trouble. It’s something about the repetitive motion. That, and getting to wield a massive knife.

Sure enough, Rey’s breathing evens out by the third cabbage. She transitions to a more practical mindset. 

_ Three days, Rey. Think of it as a gauntlet. Get through the gauntlet and you prove Solo wrong. _

Rey occasionally shoots a glare over to the hallway in case Ben makes an appearance, but that moment never comes; he doesn’t leave his lair for the rest of the night.

\---

The first day feels normal. 

Rey wakes up Tuesday morning with just enough time to throw on some clothes and pack crucial supplies, then she’s out the door and on her way to Brooklyn. She hunches her shoulders to ward off the January chill on her way to the station.

At school, the kids are presenting the stories they’ve written about their favorite vacations. Some parents are peppered throughout the classroom, invited to come and support their kids.

“This is the giraffe we saw, and this is the elephant…”

Aaliyah, the budding artist, is showing her mom her trip to the zoo. She’s leaning against the arm her mom has wrapped around her, smiling up at her when she points at something particularly memorable. Rey tries not to stare, but her own inner child is endlessly greedy to see what affection looks like. To imagine what it would feel like to be supported in someone’s arms.

Rey forces herself to look back down at Keyvon’s story about a trip to a pool. Keyvon is a shy little boy whose parents barely even come to conferences, let alone events like these. Rey always makes a point of sitting with him.

“So,” she says with a smile, “tell me what happened next!” 

Once the presentations are over, the rest of the school day seems to fly by. The kids leave at 4pm, and Rey immediately sets up camp in the back of the classroom to grade classwork. As soon as Phasma leaves, Rey pulls out the crucial supplies she’d packed this morning: a spoon and a jar of peanut butter. Assured she’s alone, Rey starts eating her dinner. She knows how it looks, but honestly, peanut butter is relatively cheap, full of protein, and sugary for good measure. Rey always kept a jar of peanut butter in her bedroom at Unkar Plutt’s for the nights when she was scared to go downstairs. It works like a charm to tide her over on long days like these.

Finally it’s 6:45pm and Rey has to make the 15 minute walk over to First Order. Rey mans the cashier tonight, beaming the usual false smile at customers. Working cashier means that when Ben comes to check on the front kitchen, she’s fully occupied and has no reason to talk to him, much less make eye contact. Still, she can feel his presence moving behind her like a patch of cold water in a lake. The crew gets tighter, talks less, acts faster. She can hear Ben’s deep voice making a few comments like a rumble in her spine. She hopes he sees her smiling. She hopes he thinks she’s invincible.

At the end of the shift, though, Rey buries her face in her coat where it hangs in the hallway. Normally she leaves work with a weary sense of satisfaction. Tonight, a wave of dismay sweeps the cashier’s fake smile right off of her face. 

_ One night down _ , she thinks to herself.

She takes a long breath in through her nose, then lets it out her mouth in a sigh. When she pulls away from her coat, of course he’s there.

Ben Solo’s paused in the hallway on the way to his office, dark eyes absorbing her defeated posture. Is he capable of feeling regret, or is he glad to see her failing? His face is its usual mask, so no clues there.

Rey straightens her back and hardens her gaze in return. She gives him a curt nod, grabs her coat and bag, and walks away.

\--

The second day is harder. 

Rey makes it home Wednesday morning with time to nap a little, and on the way back into Brooklyn she scores a seat and sleeps the whole way there. When she gets to the classroom she has enough time to sit and check her email, munching on the poptarts Finn left her. They’d been in the bathroom that morning by her toothbrush, a heart drawn on with a sharpie. After devouring the contents, Rey texts him a picture of the empty wrapper and a heart eye emoji. Food is their love language.

Teaching children on a few hours of sleep is never easy, but at least Rey has a strategy worked out for days like these. When her brain starts to feel like mush, which it inevitably does by 2pm, she starts having her small group color. Or turn and talk to each other. Anything that keeps her role to a bare minimum until school’s out at 4pm. 

Free at last, Rey has three hours to kill until the start of her shift. It’s too cold to sit outside on a bench, but luckily there’s a branch of the Brooklyn public library nearby. Rey heads into the stacks, quickly picking up a book to make it look like that’s why she’s there. The real goal, however, one of the cozy chairs near the back. Rey immediately settles herself in, drops the book on her lap, and falls asleep. 

When her phone alarm goes off a couple hours later, Rey doesn’t wake up refreshed so much as resurrected.

Walking back into First Order is harder than she thought it would be. It feels wrong to be here again so soon, like she’s walked around a revolving door back into the same store. A wave of dread sweeps through her gut. Then she thinks of Ben Solo, smug in his chair. She snarls, marches into the back. 

Rose is working cashier tonight, so Rey opts to run the biscuit station. Connix sends over the goods from the griddle and fryers, and Rey assembles the final sandwiches along with any other odd jobs that may come up. This station doesn’t require you to be very sharp, and it’s active enough to keep Rey stimulated. She needs it; her mind is gooey at the edges, and whenever there’s a lull she finds herself blindly polishing the same bit of countertop.

She’s not the only one who notices.

“Everything ok?” asks Rose.

“Fine,” Rey replies mechanically, refilling a condiment bottle.

“Uh-huh,” says Rose, unimpressed. “Is that why you’re filling the mayo with chipotle?”

Rey blinks, finally registers that her white bottle is slowly turning orange. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah, you look like it.” 

“Good thing I’m not on cashier. I’d get miserable tips.” Rey sighs and starts to dump out the contents of her bottle into the trash.

“No, no, keep it!” says Rose. “I’ll say we’ve got a new spicy mayo special or something.” She leans in conspiratorially. “You-know-who will freak if he sees all that in the trash, that’s exactly the kind of petty crap that sets him off.” 

Rey’s lip curls. “Good,” she says curtly. She ignores Rose and empties the bottle into the trash with a wet splat.

Rose raises her eyebrows.

“Sooo,” she begins, glancing around, “I couldn’t help but notice this weekend that you were in a... _ similarly _ bad mood. I’m pretty sure it started after you talked with a certain manager.”

Rey turns weary eyes over to Rose. She’s usually not one to vent to anyone but Finn, but tonight she’s just tired and pissed enough to let Rose join the club. In the space of a few minutes, the friendly cashier now knows why VISTA sucks, why living in Manhattan sucks, and exactly what Ben Solo can shove up where.

“What a dick!” Rose says as indignantly as she can manage in a whisper. She discreetly crumples up a paper takeout bag and uses it to cover the chipotle-mayo mess in the trash. “I get why you did this now.”

“I shouldn’t have, though,” shrugs Rey. “I don’t want to piss him off by wasting mayo, I want to piss him off by proving him wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“About me,” says Rey quietly. 

“Hmph.” Rose assesses Rey with a critical eye. “I think everyone in their right mind knows he’s wrong. Maybe even  _ he _ does.”

Rey laughs without humor. 

“I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

As if on cue, Ben emerges from the dark hallway like a summoned demon. Rose immediately turns back to the register, but Rey doesn’t feel obliged to move quickly on his account. Per usual, their manager says nothing to her but flicks his eyes over Rey, taking in her disheveled appearance and the dark circles under her eyes. His brow creases for a moment- consternation, maybe? Then smooths out again.

“That mayo needs a refill.” He points at the still-empty bottle in Rey’s hand.

“Yes, sir,” says Rey. 

_ One more day. _

\---

The third day is a nightmare.

Rey nearly misses her stop on the way home from First Order on Thursday morning. She’s at her bedroom door before she realizes that she has no memory of walking here from the subway station; it’s her third day on autopilot, and the system is starting to go haywire.

This is definitely true at school, where the children- bless their candid innocence- keep asking Rey if she’s sick. Three kids draw her Get Well cards, unprompted. 

_ “Are  _ you sick?” asks Phasma, “Because if you are, don’t breathe in my direction.”

Rey is re-doing a set of copies in the breakroom. She’s damn near broken this book’s spine, and yet the first words on the page keep getting cut off. The fact that this makes her want to cry tells her just how frazzled she is.

“I think I’m just tired,” murmurs Rey.

“Clearly.”

Phasma isn’t an awful person, but she is awfully by-the-books, and she seems to have conveniently forgotten ever being young or new in her career. Now she gives Rey a sideways glance.

“You know,” she begins stiffly, “maybe some water and coffee will help you bounce back from a night out.”

Rey looks at her numbly. When she processes what was just said, she can’t help it; she laughs.

Phasma sniffs, offended. She grabs her things, muttering about ungrateful amateurs, and haughtily heads back to the classroom.

The thing is, Rey  _ has _ had a night out, just not the fun kind. 

Alone, Rey gets herself back under control. “You can do this,” she says to herself, wiping her eyes.

_ Maybe. _

\--

That evening, Rey plows through the front door of First Order like a zombie through a graveyard. Rose is working cashier again and Mitaka is on biscuit station, so that leaves Rey on griddle and fryers. Normally when Rey works this station she has her supplies prepped and ready to go, chicken, eggs, and patties churning out with brisk efficiency. Tonight, however, Rey can barely think ahead to the next order, let alone the next hour of the shift. Mitaka just looks confused that Rey is so off her usual game. Rose, who knows exactly what’s going on, has appointed herself Rey’s unofficial handler for the night. 

“Why don’t you go get a drink of water or something?” Rose asks Rey in a low voice during a dip in service.

“I’m fine,” croaks Rey, feeling anything but.

Rose bites her lip, looking Rey over with a worried glance.

“Uh-huh,” she says dubiously. “Maybe take a break around midnight?”

Rey cracks another egg. “Sure.”

Midnight seems impossibly far away. Rey has stopped looking at the clock, willing this shift to be over faster.

“Chicken looks low,” calls Rose helpfully.

Rey focuses her bloodshot eyes on the tub of breaded legs, wings, and breasts; she’s only got enough chicken left for maybe another hour. Rey plods off to the back to get a new tub.

Ben’s door is, unusually, wide open when Rey passes by. He’s sitting at his desk, and Rey sees him glance up quickly as she walks past. 

“Hey,” he calls.

She keeps walking. She doesn’t have the energy to get into an argument with him, especially not when the end of her shift is within reach.

She’s just opened the walk-in fridge when he reaches her.

“Hey,” he says more pointedly, a little out of breath.

Rey stops, her whole body slumping at rest. “Hey,” she says levelly. 

Oddly, Ben says nothing at first.

Her manager is looking her over, fingers twitching at his sides. Some of the usual agitation in his hands has spilled over to his face, for once.

“What?” snaps Rey, but it comes out more resigned than she’d like.

He swallows. “...You’re restocking?”

Even to Rey’s numb brain, that’s a numb comment.

“Yep.” 

Ben looks at her for another long minute. It seems like he may, in fact, have something else to say, but Rey doesn’t have time to wait around for it. Even standing at rest is a temptation for her body to shut down.

She leaves him standing in the hall.

Rey roots around in the fridge for a fresh bucket of chicken and only finds a tub of frozen supplies. This is yet another oversight on her part; if she’d remembered to move the chicken from the freezer to the fridge at the start of the shift, it would be thawed by now. Rey half-asses some mental math and guesses it’ll be thawed by the time she uses it.

When she exits the fridge, Ben is gone and the office door is shut.

\--

The night limps along. Rose and Mitaka are both picking up slack for Rey, but in her exhausted state even the simplest orders are getting mixed up and need to be redone. Ben cruises through the front kitchen more often than usual, but Rey’s 6th sense for him is dulled along with all of her other senses. 

Maybe that’s why she misses him standing right behind her sometime after 1 AM.

“Rey.  _ Rey. _ ”

Rey looks to either side before turning around right into Ben. 

“Oh,” she says dully, “you again.” She can’t muster the energy to be angry at him.

Ben looks intently down at her, dark eyes scanning her face. If she were in a position to care, Rey might have thought he looked worried.

“I think you should take a break,” he says, pitched low so their customers and coworkers can’t easily hear.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Rey turns, grabs a few of the still-frozen chicken legs with her tongs. “Well, who’s fault is that?”

Behind her, Ben’s jaw twitches like he’s biting the inside of his cheek.

“Take a break,” he says finally, leaning in close, “let’s talk in the back.”

“After this order,” says Rey, and she drops the chicken into the fryer.

It’s not a good idea.

On any other day, even yesterday, Rey would have known better than to put frozen chicken into a 350 degree fryer. Ice and heat produce steam, and steam formed under boiling oil finds its way to the surface. Explosively. On any other day, even yesterday, at least Rey would have known to turn and duck for cover.

Instead, Rey watches numbly as the boiling oil erupts like a firework, gushing all over her still-outstretched arm.

There’s almost an audible snap in Rey’s mind as her brain comes up to speed.

Rey lets out a half-scream, instinctively clutching her burnt hand to her chest and doubling over to shield it. Bright, stabbing pain races over her skin; it feels like spikes have run through her hand, her arm. Rey forces her eyes open from where they’ve squeezed shut. Through the tears she sees her bright red skin shining taut and wet with oil.

And then she’s not on her feet.

It’s a completely different kind of sensation, but Ben Solo has her in his arms and he’s moving fast to the back kitchen. Perhaps he picked her up as soon as she screamed. Rey doesn’t know; the pain on her skin is so immediate that she can’t focus for long on much else. His deep voice is a running stream in her ear.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on…” 

They make it to the back and Ben sets her down on one of the stainless steel counters like you would a bag of groceries. Rey immediately collapses onto her good side, but she feels the pressure of his hands slowing her descent. Then Rey dimly senses Ben moving away, moving around. There’s the sound of running water.

The first wave of pain has passed, but now a miserable burn is pulsing through Rey’s whole right arm. Curled up in a fetal position on the counter, she tries to focus on her breathing to counteract the pain. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe. Repeat. Breathe. Repeat.

“...Ok, that’s good Rey, just keep breathing…”

Ben is near, touching her shoulder, then moves away again. She can vaguely hear other people’s voices, questioning, panicking, but his is a low rumble that cuts through the pain. When Rey finally musters the will to glance up and around, they’re the only two in the back.

Ben is lifting a filled 10 gallon tub from the sink like it's nothing. He sets it down on the counter next to Rey, then stands in front of her and puts his hand on her upper right arm. She instinctively tucks it in closer.

“Rey,” he says, “You need to soak your arm.”

“I- I don’t want to move it…”

“I know,” he says calmly, “but this will help.”

Rey takes a deep breath. She slowly starts to push herself back upright and he helps her along to a seated position. His hand gently but inexorably pulls her right arm away from her body; Rey half gasps, half sobs when it fully extends. Then Ben guides her arm into the cool water of the tub. Rey hisses at first contact and he slows down, his other hand briefly touching her hair. He’s saying something, some running encouragement. Rey can’t focus very well through the aching throb of her skin.

“That’s good, Rey. Just keep it submerged for a while. It’ll help, I promise…”

Who knows how long “a while” is. Rey sits, breathing raggedly, arm getting cooler the longer it’s underwater, Ben a heavy presence in front of her. He’s heavy in a good way, like a rock at the bottom of a river. Something to push off of.

Gradually, the pain ebbs to something present but manageable. Rey collects her scattered thoughts and finally looks up at Ben, who’s still standing right in front of her. She starts feeling a little embarrassed.

“I won’t- I won’t be doing that again,” she says with a shaky laugh.

Ben shakes his head tightly, eyes trained on Rey’s soaking limb. He still has a hand on her upper arm.

Realization swims through Rey’s weary mind, and her weak smile crumbles. “I’m sorry I made a mess. Did I- did I fail the probation?”

Ben’s lips tighten.

“I did.” She says it like a fact. Rey bites her lip, willing herself not to tear up. She’s so damn  _ tired _ . “I’m sorry, I should have-”

“You shouldn’t have worked three shifts in a row,” interrupts Ben, eyes laser-focused on Rey’s arm.

Rey blinks. She wonders if she heard him correctly.

“No one,” he says slowly, “should have to work all day, three days in a row.” Ben’s jaw twitches, and Rey holds her breath, waiting. Finally he tears his eyes up and meets her gaze.

“I made a mistake,” he mutters. 

It’s not an outright apology, but it’s far more than Rey ever expected from her surly manager. She wonders vaguely if she’s passed fully into the realm of hallucination. Ben doesn’t  _ do  _ nice.

_ Except sometimes, apparently. _

He’s still looking at her, a little wary and a little defiant. Cautiously, Rey raises her left hand to lightly touch Ben’s hand where it rests on her shoulder.

“Thanks for helping me,” she says.

He nods slightly. Then, letting out a breath she didn’t know he’d been holding, Ben slides his hand out from under hers.

“Pick up your arm,” he says, “let’s see how it looks.”

Rey complies with a wince. She turns the arm gingerly, surveying the red splotches unevenly scattered up her pale arm. The burns are mostly concentrated around her hand and wrist, but some oil splashed as far up as her polo shirt-sleeve. The skin seems intact for the most part, though; there will probably be some bubbling on the back of her wrist where it dragged against her shirt.

“You should go to a clinic,” Ben says appraisingly.

“Maybe.” Rey is non-commital. VISTAs do have health coverage, but the thought of getting herself to a doctor right now is overwhelming.

“At least wrap it up,” says Ben; he doesn’t make it a request. Ben finally leaves her side to go to one of the kitchen cabinets, where he pulls out an emergency kit. A quick search yields a wide roll of gauze.

Rey takes the gauze from him, her practical side winning out. She doesn’t want to think of how many germs her tender skin could be exposed to on the subway ride home.

Ah. 

The subway home.

Rey starts winding the gauze around her hand.

“I can work the rest of the shift,” she says cautiously. “Maybe register?”

Ben lets out a short bark of laughter, startling Rey into looking up. She’s never heard him laugh before.

“No,” he says, “You’re going right home.” He’s over by the freezer, where he pulls out a bag of some kind of frozen sauce. As Rey watches, he puts the bag up to his face.

Rey’s eyes widen. 

“Did it splash you too?”

“Not really,” Ben says dismissively, waving a hand. “I’ll be fine.”

Rey bites her lip. Guiltily, she turns back to her work with the gauze. In a few minutes it’s successfully wrapped from her palm up to her elbow. She shoots a look over to Ben, who is leaning against a counter with the makeshift ice pack on his face. He’s keeping his distance now, but she can’t ignore that he literally swooped in to help her before. He had no reason to do that, she realizes, especially if he’d also been hurt.

Rey’s reached an impasse with the gauze. “Can you-?” Rey hesitates, not wanting to press her luck. She’s holding the gauze in place with her left hand, but unable to tape it herself.

Ben drops the ice pack immediately and pads over to her. He rummages through the emergency kit for scissors and tape. 

“Here?”

“Yeah.”

Rey watches his face as he snips the end of the gauze and starts taping it in place. His long fingers brush her skin gingerly, mindful of burns and warm in a different way. Now that she’s not so distracted by pain, Rey notices Ben has a splatter of red along the right side of his face, dangerously close to his eye. He must have been hit by a stray burst of oil when he leaned in to talk to her. 

“Sorry about that,” she says, and he glances away from his work. His brown eyes meet hers, drop down quickly to her lips, then look away. She’s still sitting on the counter, so his face is much closer to hers than normal.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats. He clears his throat, then steps back from his handiwork.

“Take the weekend off, ok?”

Rey blinks. “Ok,” she says dumbly.

Ben reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet. Flipping it open, he searches through it and pulls out some crisp bills. He hands them out.

“Consider it paid leave.”

Rey opens her mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. She reaches out with her good hand and takes the money.

“Thanks, Ben.”

Jaw twitching, Ben nods, then turns away without another word. He grabs his condiment bag as he walks out of the kitchen. A moment later, Rey hears the office door close.

The stainless steel kitchen feels dismally empty without him in it, far too bright in the harsh fluorescent light. Feeling a thousand years old, Rey gingerly eases herself off of the counter and hobbles over to her things in the hall. When she emerges from the corridor a few minutes later, bundled in her coat, Rose and Mitaka immediately stop what they’re doing.

“Are you alright?” cries Rose, rushing away from the register. Rey feels a surge of affection for the cashier, and a tired smile rises to her face.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, warding away a hug, “my right arm’s a little fucked up, but we fixed it.”

“It was so crazy,” Rose gushes, blinking rapidly, “I’ve never seen a fryer go off like that before. You were fine one second, then NOT the next second, and then HE lifted you up like a sack of potatoes or something and I didn’t even see what happened, we couldn’t go back there-”

“It’s ok,” Rey reassures her. Back at the register, the customer Rose rushed away from is waving half-heartedly, trying to get their attention. Rey nods in his direction “You’d better get back there. I’ll see you next week, ok?”

“Ok,” says Rose. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” She almost goes in for a hug, thinks better of it, then just shapes a heart with her hands and points at Rey. “You’re the best!”

Rey doesn’t feel like the best. She exits First Order like she’s stepping onto the surface of a whole new world, unsteady and bewildered. On her way back up to Manhattan, she sends an email to her school letting them know she’ll be out sick tomorrow. It isn’t until she’s back in her bed at home that she lets herself truly relax for the first time in what feels like years. 

Tomorrow, she’ll get something real to eat. Tomorrow, she’ll fill Finn in on what happened. Tomorrow, she’ll figure out what it means that Ben Solo helped her tonight.

She remembers the low murmur of Ben’s voice guiding her through her pain. Remembering, she falls asleep.

And sleeps.

And sleeps.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOUSTON, WE HAVE LANDED ON THE COUCH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning for Rey thinking about getting murdered a few times over the course of the chapter...it felt realistic for her to consider it, since Ben is kind of sketchy even if he holds hands and mops like a Casanova. And what is HE thinking? I think we all know, but I gave him a tiny POV to help clarify.
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! They mean so much to me.

That day, Rey doesn’t wake up until 3pm. It’s glorious and disorienting and she celebrates by dragging her blankets out to one of the living room couches and watching Netflix in the actual _sunlight_ until she dozes off again. Her arm doesn’t feel terrible, but it is definitely sore beneath her flimsy gauze wrapping.

 _You should go to a clinic_ , nags Ben’s voice in her head.

“Fine,” she mutters.

So she does.

When she finally sees Finn on Saturday, she has a legitimate medical wrap around her arm, which is good for her burns but causes him to drop his bookbag at once and run to her side.

“Are you ok?” he asks, eyes fearful. “What happened? Did somebody hurt you?”

“It was a stupid accident,” soothes Rey, reaching out to squeeze Finn’s hand. She knows she would feel the same way if this happened to him. “I just splattered some oil in the fryer.”

In an instant Finn’s face hardens, though not at her.

“This fucking job,” he spits. “Rey, First Order is literally trying to kill you! Between the shitty fryers and your shitty boss-”

“It’s ok, Finn,” says Rey, trying to calm him down. He’s knows his indignation is on her behalf and it warms her heart, but it’s not what she needs right now. She needs his opinion.

“My shitty boss actually helped me out,” she says, letting go of Finn’s hand to brush over her bandages. “When I got hurt he actually, like, helped cool down my arm and fix it up. He was-” she tries to find the right word, fails to find something adequate “-helpful.”

“I should _hope_ so,” says Finn, clearly not impressed. He sits back on his heels, looking Rey over. “Don’t you have to work tonight?”

“That’s the thing, he gave me the weekend off. Paid. Paid well, actually.” Rey sighs and pats the couch next to her. “Come sit and tell me if any of this makes sense to you.”

\---

  
  


It’s about 5pm on Sunday when Rey’s phone rings. Rey is sprawled out on her bed reading an old copy of _The Heart is a Lonely Hunter_. It’s not a fun read, but the title is beautiful and Mick Kelly’s exhaustion at the end of the book has always seemed a familiar echo. Gingerly, Rey lays her right arm across the book page to hold her place and takes the call with her good hand, not bothering to check the number.

“Hello?” she says.

“Hi.”

Rey blinks. The voice on the other end is totally unfamiliar.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Solo, from First Order.”

“Oh.”

_Oh? Is that the best you can do?_

“I mean,” Rey flops down onto the sheets, “Hi. I didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

_I have absolutely never talked with you on the phone before._

“I’m sorry to call on your day off,” he says. Now that she knows who it is, Rey can picture him on the other end...sort of. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to call casually. Or to lead with an apology.

“No, it’s fine! What’s up?”

“I’m going to need you to come in and work Wednesday night.”

“...Oh.”

Rey’s stomach sinks. She _knew_ , deep down, that Thursday night was a fluke. She _knew_ that Ben was behaving freakishly out of character. She _knew_ that this long, paid weekend had to end at some point. But it still hurts to hear that not even a burnt arm is enough to stop him from assigning her to weeknight shifts.

Ben’s voice breaks the heavy silence.

“Look. Rey.” He sounds resigned, which is better than indifferent, but not much. “I’m the manager at this First Order, but the franchise owner expects certain things from our employees.”

“Uh-huh.” Rey bites her lip, fiddling with the sheets. She stares at her off-white wall without really seeing it.

“I was...told...that our location needs to cut dead weight.” It sounds literally painful for Ben to admit that someone ordered _him_ to do something; Rey can’t really imagine it happening. “Staff are now required to work a minimum of 5 shifts a week.” He pauses. “I got that _request_ last weekend. Which is why I had you work the three weeknights last week.”

“Oh.”

Rey looks woodenly down at her blankets, waiting for the hammer to fall. That inevitable, joy-killing hammer. Maybe she’ll be fired after all. Maybe it’ll be a tirade about how worthless she is and how she needs to do better.

“But 5 shifts a week obviously doesn’t work for you,” Ben says instead. 

_What?_

“So, since you’re off the books anyway, you’ll just work 3 shifts a week.” Ben pauses, waiting for Rey’s response. When it doesn’t come he adds, hesitant: “That’s as good as I can get it right now.”

“ _Oh.”_

Rey feels her cheeks heat a little.

“So,” she says cautiously, “we’re making another deal here?”

“Yes.” He almost sounds relieved that she’s caught on so quickly. “If you’re amenable.”

“3 shifts a week, cash off the books?”

“Yes.”

If this is all true, Ben Solo is making an exception to the rule for her. Which is kind of...nice of him. Again.

Rey’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What happens when the franchise owner finds out about the deal?”

“I don’t think he will,” Ben says tensely, “but if he does then I’ll handle it.” 

Rey fights the urge to snort. His voice is _much_ more recognizable when he’s being ominous.

“Ok,” says Rey slowly, thinking it over. One school night shift a week. Not ideal, but basically what she already did up until last week. “We have a deal.”

“We do.”

There’s a silence on the line while Rey’s mind races through the implications of the new arrangement. Then Ben clears his throat.

“Did you go to the clinic?”

Rey’s lips curl up into a smile. She wasn’t expecting him to ask, but she’s oddly glad that he did.

“Yeah,” she replies. She pulls her arm out from the book, losing her spot but giving her a chance to inspect her bandages. “They re-wrapped me and gave me some ointment. I’m like a slimy mummy. And I’ve got a gnarly blister on my wrist, it’s like a big ole ketchup pack of pus.”

Ben grunts. Rey winces, reminding herself too late that this is her manager, not Finn or Rose. 

“How is your face?” she asks, trying to deflect.

“It’s alright. So, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

 _Shit._ He’s clearly aborting the conversation. Rey tries to roll with it.

“Yep, see you then.”

The line goes dead.

Rey drops the phone, then rolls onto her back and stares bleakly at the ceiling.

“‘Ketchup pack of pus.’ God _dammit.”_

\---

Rey feels nervous going into her Wednesday night shift. It’s not her injury that worries her; it hurts to move her arm but it’s not impossible, and anyway, she can do register with only one arm. She’s not nervous from any kind of deep fryer PTSD, either; Rey will definitely be _very_ thorough when defrosting chickens from now on, but she’s not particularly dreading a turn at that station.

No, she’s probably nervous about Ben.

Ben Solo has never made her life especially hellish before last week, but he’s never been anything close to friendly, either. Hell, he’s never even been _personable_ . In her limited time at First Order, Rey has only seen his emotional range swing from cold competency to cold fury; it’s like dealing with a human refrigerator. Now she’s seen him being _warm_ and competent, when he bandaged her arm. And she’s heard him over the phone, being coldly furious but towards someone else, and on her behalf. Rey’s spectrum of Ben Solo has radically widened in one short week, and she isn’t sure what version of him will be clocked in this shift.

Steeling herself, Rey enters the store.

Mitaka is working the grill tonight, and he grins and waves when Rey walks in.

“The hero returns!”

Rey doesn’t talk overmuch with Mitaka, but it’s hard not to grin back at a greeting like that.

“More like the klutz,” Rey says breezily, waving her bandaged arm.

“No, you’re a genius,” says Mitaka, shaking his head, “We’re gonna make SO MUCH in tips tonight. It’s a sympathy thing.”

Rey smirks. “Maybe you should burn yourself too, we’ll quadruple our take.”

Mitaka’s hand jumps protectively to his beard, then he catches himself and just shakes his head emphatically. “Nope. No way. Definitely overkill.”

Rey continues on past the front kitchen and into the staff corridor. She hangs her coat, covertly stealing a glance back at the manager’s office as she does so.

Again, unusually, Ben’s door is ajar.

Rey hooks her backpack below her coat. Before she can lose her nerve, she walks further back to the doorway and pushes the door wholly open.

Ben is inside at his desk, a laptop in front of him. When he sees that it’s her, his gaze jumps immediately to her right arm. She, in turn, looks at his face.

“Oh shit,” says Rey, walking closer. The light is dim in the office, but Ben’s skin is such a pale white that it’s easy to see the slash of red tracked across his cheek. The closer she gets, the more detail she picks out: the yellowish blisters, the whitish scraps of skin where those blisters have presumably burst. There’s even a red patch above his eyebrow, like the oil was trying to slice his whole face off in quarters. Rey is at his side before she notices her own momentum.

“Is this going to scar?” she asks.

“Maybe. It doesn’t really matter.”

Raised red skin, smooth pale skin, gray circles below his eyes...finally Rey’s stare meets Ben’s. For once she’s taller than he is, and if he’s annoyed that she’s on his side of the desk, he doesn’t show it.

“Let me see your arm,” he says.

_“Pick up your arm, let’s see how it looks.”_

Rey instinctively obeys. She holds it out between them.

Ben tilts his head to get a better look at how the gauze is wrapped around her wrist. Watching him, Rey can actually track his gaze as it traces upwards, finally stopping near her shoulder. It’s almost like he’s trailing his fingers along. But not as good.

“A slimy mummy,” he says, almost to himself.

Rey is startled into a short laugh. Ben cocks his head at the sound, looks like he’s going to say something else, then stops himself. He looks back down at his laptop.

“You should work register tonight,” he says, businesslike. Distant again.

Rey feels a wave of disappointment. Before she has time to unpack that feeling, or to think _why_ she does what she does, Rey sticks out her good hand almost into Ben’s face. The movement gets his attention; he looks at her hand then at her uncomprehendingly.

“We made a new deal,” says Rey more confidently than she feels. “We have to shake on it.”

_I want you to touch me again._

Little Rey, watching Aaliyah on her mother’s lap. Craving what she can’t have.

Ben considers her for what feels like a long moment, long enough that Rey’s about to put down her hand and apologize. Then he lifts his hand to meet hers. His grip is strong and warm, his fingers engulfing hers. Rey remembers this handshake from when he gave her the job. She was reminded of it again Thursday night, while he taped her bandage in place. Now she shakes his hand for a second time, irrationally happy that the grip is just as she remembers it. 

“Deal?” asks Ben. He shifts his hand slightly, thumb incidentally sliding over her knuckle.

“Deal,” Rey replies. She hopes desperately that her hand isn’t as sweaty as she feels.

Then their hands are separated, and Ben is leaning over his laptop in earnest.

Rey walks out of the office. She almost forgets where she’s going, then turns right to head to the walk-in fridge. Out the corner of her eye, she can see back into the office. Ben’s eyes are on her instead of his screen.

_What did we just agree to?_

\---

The shift actually goes smoothly, even with a useless right arm.

As Mitaka predicted, once customers see Rey’s arm parked on the counter encased in bandages, they’re more than willing to add a tip to their orders or throw bills into the prominent tip jar.

“What happened?” one man exclaims.

“Fell down skateboarding,” Rey says brightly.

“Wicked,” he says, stuffing a few singles into the jar.

A few minutes later:

“What happened?!”

“Eczema outbreak,” Rey chirps. 

“Oh my god,” says the woman, flushing. “I’m sorry…”

“No problem,” Rey assures her. She pulls the screen back towards her and sees the woman’s tipped her well, out of embarrassment.

MItaka is whistling merrily behind her. Rey grins.

“Next?”

\--

The shift goes smoothly, until it doesn’t.

The last customers are finishing up their meals at the tables when Snap comes running out from the back kitchen where he’s been doing dishes.

“The dishwasher bust!” he calls, waving urgently.

Rey checks the clock. 4am.

 _Dammit_. She’d been hoping to leave early today.

Rey abandons the counter and follows a groaning Mitaka to the back kitchen. Ben is already there on his phone, pacing near the freezers.

“Yeah,” he says, “something’s cracked, there’s water leaking out all over the floor…”

Rey glances over at their dishwashing rig and sees that there is, in fact, a Noah’s flood of water pooled over the dingy tile floor. Snap throws himself back onto his knees, heedless of the damp patches that spread up his pant legs. He’s ramming dishrags into a gap in the machinery to try and slow the tide. Mitaka hovers behind him.

Ben pulls the phone away from his ear, stifling the receiver against his other palm. His new scar looks raw under the fluorescent lights.

“Get a _mop_ , Mitaka, don’t just stand there.”

Mitaka glances at Rey with a wounded look- _why me?-_ as Ben turns away again with his phone. But he goes for the supply closet without a word.

Rey, in the meantime, makes a beeline for the water valves behind the dishwasher and shuts down the line.

“Yes,” Ben is saying. “Can you send your guys over tomorrow?” Rey sneaks a look at him just as he winces at something said on the other side.

“No,” he says, low. “Of course I don’t take it for granted. I would _appreciate_ your help.”

Rey turns her gaze back to the dishwasher before Ben can catch her looking. Half a minute later, she hears their manager sigh and looks back to see him pocketing his phone with a frown.

“Snoke’s team will fix this tomorrow,” he says flatly. “For now let’s get the lake off this floor.” Ben surveys the mess imperiously; his face wrinkles in disgust as he takes in Mitaka.

“What are you _doing_ , Mitaka?”

Mitaka freezes, mop still in hand. He’s been stirring it in circles on the floor.

“Uhh,” the unfortunate fry cook looks down at his mop, then back at their manager. “Mopping?”

“Give me that,” snaps Ben. He pulls the mop out of Mitaka’s limp hands and thwacks it onto the tile, scrubbing water away from himself in a powerful sweeping motion that makes both his back muscles and Rey’s eyes bulge abnormally.

“I’ll just, uh, clean the front tables…” trails Mitaka, sidestepping out of Ben’s way. 

Ben grunts and keeps mopping with focused intensity. Rey stares at him a little longer than she probably should, then shakes her head briskly to break the spell. 

_Get it together_ , _Rey._

Kneeling, Rey joins Snap in his work on the dishwasher. 

\----

An hour later, the kitchen is finally less of a wreck.

“See you this weekend?” asks Snap.

“Yep, I’ll be here,” says Rey with a tired smile she doesn’t really feel.

Snap claps her heartily on the shoulder- luckily the good one- and makes for the door of First Order. He and Mitaka hunch their shoulders against the cold air and disappear into the lightening night. Rey, on the other hand, feels cold just thinking about her commute home. Is it even worth going back? Maybe there’s a safe-ish park somewhere where she can doze on a bench, if she wears enough layers?

Rey stares into the middle distance doing mental calculations, which is why she misses the first time Ben says her name. The second time, she blinks and looks up to see her manager hovering next to her in the corridor. They’re the only ones left in the store.

“Oh, hey,” says Rey, tucking a messy lock of her hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“You’re thinking about going back to Manhattan.”

It’s funny how Ben can do that, ask a question like he’s stating a fact.

“Yeah,” Rey acknowledges, sighing. She darts a quick look up at Ben, gauging whether or not he seems sympathetic. Normally her default answer for him would be NO, but stranger things have happened lately.

“I may just walk around here for a while,” she confides. “My school is 15 minutes away, so it’s easier to sleep in a library or something instead of going all the way home and back.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Rey looks down at her shoes, embarrassed. It sounds so _stupid_ out loud. Worse, it makes it sound like she’s pitiful when really she’s just pitifully bad at planning out her life’s logistics. 

Ben clears his throat and Rey looks back up at him. He’s his usual hulking, gloomy looking self, and with angry facial scabs to boot. But there’s an unusual amount of conflict in his normally mask-like face. Or has that emotion always been there, and Rey never paid attention?

Ben’s whole body seems to still, coming to a decision. 

“You could…” he pauses, clenches his jaw, then looks back at her. Directly at her. “You could stay upstairs tonight.”

A blush races up through Rey’s cheeks at the same time something low in her gut seems to clench. 

“Uh, I’m not, it’s-” Rey struggles for words “It’s not like that, Ben.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says just as quickly, “I’m not trying to-” he pauses and runs a hand through his hair. He looks young all of a sudden, and very uncomfortable. “I have a couch. It’s a very wide couch, I think it’s comfortable to sleep on. You could-” he brings his hand down again and gestures at her. “You could sleep there for the night. If you don’t want to go all the way home.”

Rey’s blush still lingers, a faint and _entirely_ unreasonable disappointment chiming in. “Oh, okay,” she says dumbly. “Do you have blankets and stuff?” 

Ben opens his mouth to reply but Rey shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose, cutting him off. “No, wait. Don’t answer that. I shouldn’t spend the night.” She looks up at him helplessly. “That breaks some kind of work rule, right?”

Ben looks down at her seriously. “I don’t think so. Nothing I’ve explicitly read in the handbook.”

Rey is pretty sure he’s wrong, but on the other hand...God, she’s tired. The thought of getting on the train at this point is truly exhausting, and a Lyft would eat up all of tonight’s wages. If she sleeps on a park bench there’s a non-zero chance that she’s going to get stabbed in her sleep. Crazily, after this past week, she’s willing to believe that Ben is _less_ likely to stab her in her sleep. 

_This is_ all _crazy,_ Rey thinks to herself. She scrubs a hand over her face and laughs a little.

“What?” Ben still looks serious, his dark eyes tracking hers.

Rey smiles crookedly at him. At least if her manager murders her, she’ll have plenty of time to catch up on her beauty rest. 

“This is so weird,” she says, “but yes, thank you, I would love to sleep on your super wide couch. You can tell me now if you have blankets.” 

Ben’s lips twitch slightly in what may be a smile. 

“I do have blankets. I even have some you can borrow.”

\----

Somehow Rey had expected Ben’s apartment to smell like hot oil, biscuits, and sharp pickled relish. Those smells are so intense at First Order that she can easily imagine them soaking up through the ceiling and past his floorboards. But that isn’t the case. Ben’s apartment has the distinctly warm, somewhat musky smell of Someone Else’s Place.

Rey is secretly a connoisseur of that particular scent. There’s something exciting about being Somewhere Else, breaking into Someone Else’s secret sanctum. As a child she piggy-backed onto other kids’ sleepovers as often as her limited social skills allowed. There would be bowls of snacks and strange hand soaps, old, dusky carpets inches from her nose as she huddled in her beat up sleeping bag. All the other kids would fall asleep and Rey would still be awake, looking up at the dark ceiling and willing the smells of the new house to claim her. Thinking that maybe if she just stayed long enough, this would become her foster home instead of Unkar Plutt’s. It never worked, but it was always fun to imagine. As an adult, Rey still finds excuses to crash on other people’s couches, or, sometimes, in other people’s beds. Part of it is probably escapism, but a larger part of her revels in the thrill of the unknown. It’s like stepping onto an unfamiliar planet.

Planet Ben is relatively tidy and somewhat featureless. He has no pictures on the walls or standing up on his desk. His apartment is also large by New York standards; the kitchen opens up into a living room with enough room for a work desk, and Ben disappears down a hallway that presumably leads to a bedroom or two. 

_No stacked bodies,_ _sorry Rose,_ Rey thinks as she looks around. She’s sitting on Ben’s couch, which is, in fact, wide and comfortable. It’s gray, but then again almost all of the apartment is gray or black. 

“I’ve got some blankets and a pillow here” says Ben, coming back down the hall with his arms full. “There’s a towel too if you need it.”

“Thanks,” says Rey, taking the bundle, “I’ll probably just wash my face, the smell of grease always-”

“Always sticks to everything, yeah,” says Ben, and Rey is reminded that he also works in this industry. Rey wonders for the first time if Ben worked his way up from a dishwasher position, or if he ever had her station at the grill. She definitely can’t picture him taking customer orders without intimidating the guests.

Ben’s cheeks color slightly as he gestures at the stack in Rey’s arms. “I didn’t know if you had any backup clothes,” he says, “so I put a shirt and some shorts in there.”

Rey’s blush rises to meet his and a gaggle of thoughts pass through her head. Is he worried her work clothes will stink up his couch? She opens her mouth to apologize instinctively, then pauses. A new emotion is pushing past her embarrassment. Ben Solo, strange and dangerous manager, is offering her pyjamas. His own clothes. She fights the urge to look down and see if his shirt is a graphic tee. What if the shorts are really boxers, decorated with something stupid like shamrocks?

A smile curls her lips involuntarily, and Rey hugs the bundle to her. “Thank you,” is what she finally says, and she means it. “Thanks again for letting me crash here.”

Ben gets his face back under control and nods curtly. “Of course. The tap water is fine here, and the bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”

“Ok, sounds good.” 

Rey looks down the hallway where Ben had emerged. “I’m going to get changed, if that’s ok.”

Ben’s face stays still, but his fingers twitch. “Yeah,” he says carefully. “I’m just going to eat something quick, then I’ll be out of your way.”

Rey makes her way down the hall. As she suspected, there’s one open doorway that definitely leads to Ben’s room- she spots the edge of a bed through the gap- and then two closed doors. Rey tries the door directly across from Ben’s, but it only opens halfway before bumping up against something. Rey peers through the crack to see what she’s dealing with and catches a dark glimpse of furniture or something.

“Which one is the bathroom?” she calls down the hall, still squinting.

Ben appears in the hallway, a looming shadow against the light from the living area.

“At the very end,” he says, walking up to her. He glances at the door she’s opened but doesn’t look in. He takes the doorknob from Rey and shuts it.

“Just storage,” he says, but his quick smile is a little tight and doesn’t reach his eyes.

Rey nods her thanks and goes into the bathroom at the end of the hall, switching on the light and leaning against the door once she closes it behind her.

“Storage” isn’t code for dead bodies, right?

This is fine, right?

Rey shoots the air out past her lips, letting them vibrate. This is fucking _surreal_ , is what it is. She’s in the apartment above First Order holding a bundle of her boss’s clothes.

Making up her mind, Rey digs her phone out of her pocket and shoots Finn a quick text, letting him know where she is.

<Staying at my manager’s place tonight, right above First Order>

<On the couch>

<If I don’t text tomorrow tell the police>

<jk>

<But not really>

<I’ll explain later!>

Rey lets out another steadying sigh, then commits to the plan. This is fine. 

_Think of the two hours of extra sleep._

Rey is somewhat disappointed that the shorts Ben has left her aren’t covered in shamrocks, but they’re black and comfortable and smell like Someone Else’s laundry detergent. The t-shirt is less disappointing. It’s that Nirvana t-shirt everyone and their mother has owned at some point, with the yellow smiley face. It’s definitely not shocking that Ben listens to atonal grunge, but knowing that small detail about him puts Rey a bit more at ease after glimpsing the mysterious spare room. She debates leaving her bra on or off, decides the shirt is big enough on her, and takes the bra off.

 _Guess that makes me a flower sniffin’ kitty pettin’ baby kissin’ corporate rock whore._

After rinsing her face, Rey steals a bit of Ben’s toothpaste to brush over her teeth with a finger. She spits out, then dares to look under his sink to see if there’s Scope for good measure. No luck. Finally, Rey nervously sits on the toilet and tries to pee _as quietly as possible_. This is fine. She’s peeing in Ben’s toilet. She’s in her manager’s bathroom without a bra on. Totally fine.

After flushing, Rey takes a quick moment to assess herself. The shirt is baggy enough on her to cover most jiggling, the shorts are long enough on her to come down a bit past her knees. Her legs haven’t been shaved recently, but it’s probably not super noticeable. She reaches up and undoes her buns as the last step. Then, with a deep breath and clothing bundled under her arm, she exits the bathroom. 

Rey makes a beeline for the couch. She hears Ben in the kitchen and a covert glance reveals him turned towards the microwave, something slowly revolving as it heats up. She shoves her old clothes into her backpack and starts laying sheets over the couch. 

“What are you making?” Rey asks

“Quesadillas, sort of,” says Ben. He starts turning around. “You just melt cheese on a tortilla and it’s pretty...much...:”

Rey looks up from where she’s settling the pillow. Ben is staring at her. His gaze roves hungrily over her, taking in his clothes on her, her undone hair. Then he takes a deep breath and leans both hands on the counter, looking down at it like the granite grain is fascinating.

“Pretty much a quesadilla,” he finishes roughly.

“Smells good,” Rey supplies, helping him cover.

“Yeah.” Ben rubs at an imaginary spot in front of him. Glances up. “Do you want one? Not hard to make.”

Rey opens her mouth to demur, but her stomach has other ideas and rumbles. She changes course.

“If you have enough stuff, I would love one.”

Ben nods and turns away, starting to assemble another quesadilla from the tortillas and cheese still on the counter. Rey’s run out of bedding to set up, so she walks over to the counter and sits at one of the stools across from him.

“Your apartment is really nice,” she says, both to fill up the silence and because it’s objectively true.

“Thanks,” he says, “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Really?” Rey looks around with fresh eyes, trying to imagine a child running around. Or maybe two? She realizes she doesn’t know if Ben has siblings or not. 

“Yeah.”

The microwave beeps and Ben takes out the first plate and leaves it steaming on the counter.

“You can have that one if you want,” he says, looking back up at her. 

“Sure,” says Rey. While Ben puts the next plate into the microwave, she slides off of her stool and walks around the counter to the fridge. She opens it and bends over, peering at the contents. Egg carton. Bread. Takeout containers.

“What are you looking for?” Ben’s voice comes from right behind her and she startles a little. Rey looks up and he’s leaning against the freezer, looking down at her.

“Just hot sauce or something,” she says, eyes wide.

Ben tears his gaze away from hers to look into the fridge. After a moment he leans forward and plucks a bottle of hot sauce from the fridge door. Rey straightens up at the same time he does. The fridge is pouring chilled air at them, but Rey feels a little overheated and definitely a lot underdressed. She’s aware of Ben’s t-shirt hanging off the peaks of her breasts and hopes desperately that her nipples aren’t visible. 

Ben’s looking at her face right now, though.

“Your hair looks different when it’s down,” he says quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Rey jokes, smiling a little in spite of her whole mouth feeling dry.

“Fair enough,” says Ben. He shrugs, as if trying to reset himself. “What time do you need to leave tomorrow?”

“Around 7:30,” says Rey.

“I’ll be asleep then,” he says, “Leave the door unlocked when you go, I’ll take care of the sheets.”

“Ok.”

The microwave beeps at them, breaking their oddly domestic conversation. Rey shuts the fridge door while he gets out the hot plate. When he turns around, quesadilla in hand, Ben gives her one last lingering look.

“I’m going to eat this in my room, don’t want to keep you up.” He gives her a jerky nod. “Goodnight.”

Rey nods back quickly. This is a good idea. A much better idea than cultivating the weird energy between them.

“Goodnight,” she says, “and thanks again.”

Ben leaves her alone to finish dinner.

\----

Later that morning, Rey wakes up to the buzz of her phone alarm. Pulling it closer to face, Rey blearily checks the time.

_7:30?!_

Rey bolts upright. She frantically looks around, ready to throw on any clothes and run out the door. Except…

This isn’t her room.

Gray light filters softly through drawn blinds. She inhales deeply and it’s an unfamiliar smell, she’s wearing unfamiliar clothes and on an unfamiliar couch. Confusion roils through her mind for another few seconds before one name solves the puzzle.

_Ben._

She’s at Ben’s apartment.

Rey breathes out slowly, allowing herself to slump back down on the couch. Ben’s place is only a 15 minute walk from school. A relieved smile breaks out over her face.

10 minutes later, Rey is dressed and has finger-brushed her hair back into a ponytail. She’s wearing the same school clothes as yesterday, but she figures she can throw on the sweater she keeps in their classroom. Three hours of uninterrupted sleep shouldn’t make such a difference in Rey’s mood, but for once she feels ready to take on the day ahead.

Rey neatens the sheets on the couch, but otherwise takes Ben at his word that he’ll take care of them. She slings her bag over her shoulder and makes for the door. Before exiting the apartment, she takes a long look around; she doubts she’ll ever see it again. 

Rey closes the door quietly behind her.

\---

At school, Rey feels tired but not gutted like she usually does. Phasma doesn’t notice that she’s wearing the same shirt under her school sweater. The cafeteria lunch is, ironically, quesadillas. Rey eats hers and smiles a secret smile.

\---

At about the same time, 15 minutes away, Ben Solo emerges from his bedroom. He stands for a long moment in his dark hallway, listening. Eventually, he walks quietly to the living area and looks down at the couch, not sure what he’ll find.

Neatened sheets.

Folded shirt and shorts.

God, she really _was_ here.

Still tired, Rey’s manager pulls back the sheets on the couch and slips down between them. He turns onto his side, burying his nose into the pillow.

Detergent. Faint fryer grease. Something unknown.

Ben curls around the pillow and falls back asleep, memorizing the smell that is Rey. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! It's not just for sandwiches!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely more of a bridge chapter, but I tried to make it a cute bridge. I was worried about having so much going on in the past tense, but hopefully it's clear that Rey and Ben have been building up a rapport for the past month or so via sleepovers and shifts. I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! I'm always so happy and grateful that anyone wants to read what I have to say about Reylo- thank you for following along!

It’s Friday, school’s out, the weekend has officially begun...and Rey is typing up report card comments.

_ Teyani is such a pleasure to have in class! She is incredibly enthusiastic and- _

Rey scrunches her nose, fingers poised over the keyboard.

_ -enthusiastic and- _

Rey’s fingers slump.

“What’s a synonym for enthusiastic?” she mutters to herself, feeling anything but.

Rey is alone in her classroom, jar of peanut butter by her elbow and First Order uniform tucked into her bag. She’s plowed through writing half her class comments in an effort to kill time before her Friday night shift. She really should get the other half done, but it’s hard to stay focused; even the bit of music Rey has playing from her laptop can’t make the empty room feel less lonely. Phasma left over an hour ago and the other elementary teachers are long gone to the local watering hole.

A dull buzz cuts jarringly through the relative quiet of the classroom. Gladly welcoming the distraction, Rey pulls her phone out of her coat pocket and unlocks it. 

<Hey Peanut are you out of work yet?>

Rey unconsciously smiles at the nickname, one Finn gave her when he first caught her eating spoonfuls of Jif on the job at Millenium Diner.

<I’m just doing work at school until my shift, what’s up?>

<I’m in your part of town! Checking out a new bar, want to come?>

Rey’s smile broadens. 

What’s a good synonym for enthusiastic?  _ Eager. _

<I’ll be right there, text me the address!>

\---

Rey arrives at the bar called  _ D’Qar _ ten minutes later. It’s a bit of a hole in the wall, but the cramped brick exterior gives way to a cozy wood-panelled interior, walls lined with deep booths. A plain but dignified bar takes up the far corner of the room, and that’s where Rey spots Finn’s jacket through the scattering of other customers.

“My long lost roommate!” cries Finn, pulling Rey into a tight hug as soon as she reaches his bar stool. Rey gingerly returns the embrace with both arms, her right one having healed up considerably over the past couple of weeks.

“Since when are you a Brooklyn boy?” asks Rey in mock wonder, pulling free reluctantly and taking a seat next to her friend.

“Business calls,” replies Finn mysteriously. Rey opens her mouth to question him further, then stops, deciding she doesn’t really care  _ why  _ he’s here as long as he  _ is. _

“What’s the happy hour special?” asks Rey, glancing up and down the bar for a menu of some kind.

“I dunno, I’ve never been here before,” says Finn, “Go with a jack and Coke or something, well drinks are usually included.”

“Mmm, maybe not before my shift.”

“Why not?” Finn jostles her left shoulder playfully with his own. “You already burned your arm once, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Ha ha,” Rey says dryly, “I’m so glad we’re at the point where we can joke about that.”

“Well,” Finn begins, a little repentant, “It did kind of go as well as it possibly could-” Rey shoots him a dirty look “-besides the burning part.” He holds up his hand and starts ticking off his fingers. “You got paid time off. Your arm is almost better now. You only have to work 3 shifts a week. You can crash with your  _ boss  _ whenever you like-”

“Oi,” squeals Rey, pinching his arm, “I do not  _ crash with my boss- _ ”

Finn laughs, shielding himself. “You literally do! I was all ready to call the cops over that first time-”

“Well I can’t-” Rey’s aware that her face is bright red. “I can’t crash with him  _ whenever I like.” _

“Uh-huh.”

“Just on weeknights,” Rey finishes lamely. “On weeknights when I’ve been working.” 

Finn arches an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” mutters Rey. 

A bartender mercifully appears in front of them to take their drinks order. Rey pays for a jack and Coke with some crumpled bills while Finn opens a tab for himself.

“Are you meeting someone here?” asks Rey, curiosity winning out.

“Maybe,” smiles Finn. “You don’t get to change the subject, though. I’m still wondering how you worked out this deal with your ax-murder boss.”

So is Rey, truthfully.

After that first night at Ben’s, Rey had made sure to treat her manager with the utmost professionalism. In fact, the following weekend Rey straight up avoided him as much as possible. She hadn’t really  _ meant  _ to. It was just difficult to reconcile working at First Order with the alternate reality that had taken place mere feet above her head, inside his apartment. The chill of the walk-in fridge reminded her of his open refrigerator. The sight of him walking down the corridor reminded her of him walking back from his bedroom, blanket in arms. Whenever Rey caught Ben looking at her, she had to surreptitiously check herself to make sure she was in her work polo and not his old pyjama shirt. 

Ben, for his part, was aloof but not unusually so. Possibly he was out of his office more often than on a typical weekend, pitching in to unpack deliveries and juice oranges in the back kitchen. Rey skirted around him on those occasions, and he didn’t seek her out. Whenever they did happen to make eye contact, Ben’s gaze was blandly cool. Rey started to doubt that he’d ever looked at her hungrily, like he wanted to eat her whole.

Rey told herself she felt relief, not disappointment.

Then Tuesday rolled around and Ben Solo appeared like a ghost by her side in the back kitchen.

“Rey,” he’d said, like her name was all the greeting she needed.

Rey had started and looked up at him, surprised at the break in their mutual silence. Her manager’s long black hair was tucked behind his ear on his bad side where the red oil-scarred flesh stretched from his forehead down past his jawline. In following its path, Rey realized for the first time just how many moles Ben had dotting his face.

“How are you?” Ben asked in a low voice, even though no one else was in the back kitchen. Rey could practically hear the rust on his manners.

“I’m ok,” Rey had replied warily. Feeling a bit ridiculous and yet not ridiculous at all, she parroted back his question: “How are you?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

They had stood there for a long moment, side by side. It should have been the awkward moment Rey had been dreading all weekend, but it wasn’t. It was oddly...fine, instead. Like some kind of truce.

“If it’s easier for you,” Ben began slowly, “you could stay on the couch again tonight.” His expression was carefully neutral, but he didn’t shy away from meeting her gaze.

Rey had looked back at him, checking her gut for any warning. Any reason to say no.

Her mind had plenty to say on the subject, but her gut was uncannily silent.

“That would be perfect,” Rey said.

\---

“...So that’s kind of the deal,” Rey finishes, tearing her soggy straw paper into little balls. It’s been almost a month of weeknight sleepovers, and she’s not any closer to sorting out how she feels about it.

“Interesting,” says Finn, drawing the word out. He puffs air out his mouth, looking at Rey sidelong. “Is this…” He pauses and restarts the sentence. “Are you interested in him?”

“What?” Rey snaps her head up, forgetting the wrapper in her hands. Finn just shrugs.

Rey’s jaw tenses up. Her immediate urge is to clam up, to leave the bar and retreat to the safer waters of solitude. But...it’s Finn. And it’s a good question.

Finn waits patiently while she mulls it over.

“I am interested in him,” she finally admits, “but I don’t think in  _ that _ way. He’s attractive, kind of. Nice eyes when he isn’t staring a hole through your soul. Built like a statue...” She hastily redirects herself. “But mostly I just don’t get what makes him tick. And that’s kind of...intriguing.”

Finn, to his credit, just listens and takes Rey at her word. He laughs a little, but it’s not unkind.

“So you’re saying your boss is like a broken sink.”

“Kind of!” Rey smiles shyly. “You know I’m a sucker for fucked up machinery.”

“I do,” says Finn ruefully, “I still remember that flood. Made the leak in the bathtub seem like a light drizzle.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “I fixed it  _ eventually.” _

“Uh-huh.”

Rey shoves his shoulder.

“Happy hour ends in a few minutes,” the bartender calls, leaning towards them.

Rey blinks and looks around  _ D’Qar _ ; it’s become much more crowded since she and Finn first ordered. Rey checks her phone quickly and sees that her shift starts in less than 10 minutes.

“Shoot, I gotta run,” she says, turning to Finn and leaning in for a quick hug. “You have a great night, ok? You and this mysterious business.”

“I will,” Finn says with a grin. “You have fun with your weird boss-friend-nemesis.”

“He’s not my  _ nemesis  _ anymore,” huffs Rey, hopping off the stool and grabbing her backpack from the floor. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

_ He’s not my friend, either,  _ she thinks,  _ not yet. _

\---

Rey walks into First Order with a spring in her step, invigorated by a combination of seeing Finn, having her jack and Coke, and making a decision on the way to work. A decision concerning Ben Solo.

Rey walks straight to the back office without dropping off her stuff. She knocks on the wooden door, pauses a moment for decorum’s sake, then opens it up. Ben swivels his chair around when she comes in, and she’s gratified to see that he doesn’t seem unhappy to see her.

“Yes?” he asks levelly.

Ignoring the nervous flutter in her chest, Rey plants her backpack unceremoniously on top of his desk and starts rooting around it. With a loud crinkle, she pulls forth a bag of Doritos.

“I owed you a bag,” she explains, setting it in front of him.

Ben stares at the bag, nonplussed. Then he gingerly picks it up, large hands crumpling the sides.

“What is this for?”

“To replace the bag I demolished Tuesday night,” Rey explains. 

Ben looks up. Rey is relieved to see amusement glinting in his eyes.

“These are Spicy Sweet Chili,” he says slowly.

“Yep.”

He waves the bag slightly. “I thought we established that this is the worst flavor.”

Rey sinks back on her heels, crossing her arms over her chest.

“We established that you have the worst taste in chips, yes.” She gestures grandly at the bag. “I have now given you a chance to see the error of your ways.”

Ben looks mildly incredulous, but he doesn’t let go of Rey’s gift. He sighs and unseals the Doritos.

“You didn’t owe me Doritos,” he says, almost a grumble, “It’s my fault for not having any real food at home.” He pulls out a chip nonetheless, pops it into his mouth. Winces.

“Don’t say anything yet!” warns Rey, grabbing her backpack and backing away slowly. “Let it marinate!”

Ben raises an eyebrow skeptically, stretching the red skin. Rey flashes him a quick smile and slips out the door, trapping him inside with the Doritos. She thinks she can hear the bag crinkling through the shut door.

“Hey!”

Rey starts guiltily and looks behind her. Rose has just finished hanging her coat on a hook.

“Hey stranger,” says Rey, a little offbeat but genuinely glad to see the cashier. They haven’t been working the same shifts lately.

“What’s going on?” asks Rose, pointedly flashing her eyes over at Ben’s door. It takes Rey a second to remember that Rose still thinks she’s mad at Ben. 

_ My nemesis, right _ .  _ Not the guy I’m trying to win over with Doritos. _

“Oh, nothing.” Rey swallows. “Just had a talk about hours.”

“But you’re smiling,” says Rose, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Well...” Rey tries to wipe her face and mostly succeeds, relying on years of practice. She leans in confidentially towards Rose. “I think I came out ahead on that one,” she whispers.

—-

Later that night, Rey is pickling green tomatoes in the otherwise empty back kitchen when a now-familiar mass settles at her side. She looks over to see Ben leaning on the counter beside her. He’s not exactly casual, but he’s there and he’s looking lost in thought.

“Well?” Rey prompts.

Ben is silent for long enough that Rey stops jarring tomatoes and gives him her full attention.

“It’s...better than Cool Ranch,” he says finally.

Rey wrinkles her nose.

“That,” she says, “is damning with faint praise.”

Ben shrugs.

“You can try and change my mind,” he says casually. Then there are footsteps in the corridor; he pushes off from the counter and starts walking back to his office. Connix rounds the corner just as he disappears. Rey busies herself retying her ponytail, briefly hiding her huge, pleased grin. 

—-

And so it goes.

Each week, Rey gets a little more comfortable with their routine. On weeknights, she lingers at the end of the shift, cleaning until everyone else has headed out. Ben finishes locking everything up in the store. Together, they exit First Order. Rey waits, breath pluming in the February night, while Ben closes the grate over the storefront.

Once they’ve made it up the short flight of stairs to Ben’s apartment, they don’t stay up much later. Rey, of course, has work in the morning, and Ben seems more than happy to cede his living area to his grungy employee and head to bed. Before they part ways, though, Ben invariably makes himself some kind of snack. He always asks Rey if she wants any. Every time, she says yes.

It’s in these short bursts of conversation that Rey starts to learn about Ben. He doesn’t have any siblings, for example. He meticulously washes out his takeout containers before recycling them. He’s not a Tarantino guy but he has an opinion on how his movies should be ranked. He sleeps in white v-neck tees that hike up when he reaches for a top shelf. He (erroneously) believes that Nacho Cheese is the best flavor of Dorito.

Rey hoards these pieces of knowledge. And apparently Ben remembers what he’s learned about her, too.

It’s a Wednesday night just before closing and Rey is sweeping beneath the tables in the sitting area when she hears her name ring through the restaurant:

“Rey!”

Her back straightens immediately. Ben Solo has that kind of effect when he yells.

Connix and Mitaka look pityingly at her. Rey leans her broom against a wall and walks slowly down the corridor towards the back kitchen. She feels nervous in spite of everything, in spite of the sparks of warmth that have built up between them lately. Did she leave the walk-in fridge open, maybe?

Ben is standing by the freezers, a looming thunderhead with his black clothes and deep scowl on his face. He’s supervising the dishwasher’s work, so the poor dishwasher is scrubbing doubletime.

Rey reluctantly walks up to her manager’s side.

“Yes?”

Ben looks down at her with a fierce expression. Then he hands her his phone.

“What do you want?” he asks quietly, at odds with his face.

Rey looks down.

He has an order for Chinese takeout pulled up. Her favorite local spot.

Rey’s mouth immediately turns up in a smile, but she stifles her laugh. Ben, meanwhile, has crossed his arms and continues to scowl menacingly at the kitchen for the benefit of anyone who might come back here. The dishwasher is nervously working with his back towards them, water running full blast and muffling their conversation.

Rey deftly picks out the boneless spare ribs and General Tso’s, then returns the phone to Ben. His fingers tap across the screen for a moment, then he slides it back into his pocket and resumes glaring into space.

“It’ll be here in 30,” he says softly.

“Great.” Rey looks up at him, eyes dancing. “Should I look chastised?”

“Very.”

Rey pulls her face into a crestfallen expression, a perfect mix of gutted and frustrated. Ben glances down at her and his lips twist into a sideways smile.

“Oi,” hisses Rey. She dares to kick at his foot. “Keep a straight face.”

Ben twists his lips back into a grimace, but she can still see the smile in his eyes.

Rey huffs and turns away from him, making her way back to the front like she’s just had a terrible run-in with Ben Solo, Brooklyn’s biggest asshole.

Internally, she’s beaming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's afraid of the big bad Snoke?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blown away by your response to last chapter, thank you all so much! I wish I had more fluff to give you this time around, but alas, it's time for Snoke to rear his ugly head, and Ben Solo is not his best self around Snoke. I knew 0 things about how franchising works before this fic, and now I know like 2 things, so apologies if any of you find gaping holes in my franchise logic (I'll get more into it in later chapters).
> 
> This upcoming week will be crazy, and then next week I'm on vacation, so it'll probably be 2 weeks before the next update. Sorry! I'm so excited to finally share the next chapter, though, and I think you'll love it too ;)

Beware the Ides of March, the warning goes.

It’s halfway through the third month of the year, when any given morning the weather flips a coin between a Winter freeze and the faintest beginnings of Spring. In the relative seaside warmth of New York City, brown grass is often exposed but lies utterly lifeless under a layer of recurring slush. People walk down the streets feeling either too cold or too hot, depending on which season they decided to dress for. It’s a time for guarded hopes.

Lately, Rey has been feeling a bloom of excitement every time she walks in to work at First Order, and this Friday is no exception. She tries not to examine the feeling too closely, but it’s not like she’s found joy in frying chickens all of a sudden; the only thing that’s changed in the past weeks is Ben. 

Rey pulls out chicken from the freezer to thaw for tonight, and her manager coincidentally walks into the back area. 

“Read any good books lately?” he asks, coming over to poke at the frozen thighs and breasts. 

“Mhmmm,” hums Rey, “ _ Gardening in Partial Sunshine _ . It was  _ fascinating _ .”

“Hm.” Rey isn’t looking at Ben, but she can still tell he’s amused. “How long did it take you to fall asleep?”

“One page, a new record,” Rey says, hauling out one more tub. She actually feels rested after her habitual nap in the library. “The reference section is a godsend, I’m telling you.”

Snap comes bustling into the kitchen with an empty container for the sink. Ben and Rey subtly change their postures, Ben stiffening and leaning away and Rey bending intently over her supplies. Just a manager giving a note to his employee.

They’ve never openly discussed it, but both Rey and Ben know that the things they’ve been doing- the sleepovers, the limited shifts- put them deep into sticky territory. The crew at First Order is pretty relaxed, but if they knew what was happening it would just take one irate employee to cry favoritism and poison the whole pool. Consequently, the two of them limit their conversations to his office or to the back kitchen at times when others are too busy to visit. There’s nothing untoward about a friendship, of course, but a friendship with Ben just...isn’t likely. It’s unlikely enough to raise questions.

When Snap heads back out to the corridor, Ben surprises Rey by leaning back in, closer than before, near enough that his breath is a warm gust against her neck. 

“Once you’ve mastered gardening,” he says, “I have some very dull manager training manuals upstairs.” Rey fights down a shiver; his voice sounds  _ different _ when it’s lowered and close to her ear. “You can stop by before a shift, if you want.”

Rey turns her head in surprise, her nose ending up a few inches from his. There’s nothing untoward in Ben’s face, but his brown eyes are warm and Rey gets lost for a moment in the details of his irises. She inhales to reply, breathing in air that smells like his apartment.

Then Ben’s phone buzzes, cutting her off. Those brown eyes blink, and he pulls back, the warm chocolate darkening to black with distance.

Ben pulls his phone out of his pocket, and Rey knows when he sees who’s calling because his whole facial expression changes. It’s like all the humor and warmth in his face circles an invisible drain, disappearing until only his cold, impassive mask remains. It’s unnerving to watch the transformation; his back straightens and he completely ignores her as he presses the button to take the call.

“Yes?” he says, voice flat. He walks away from a very confused Rey, and she hears his office door shut.

Rey stands, hands still on her bucket of chicken. A swirl of emotions flow through her: surprise at his offer, irritation that he left, a slight panic that she doesn’t know what her answer should be. It’s another unspoken rule that Rey only comes to Ben’s apartment after weeknight shifts; visiting  _ before  _ a shift would be quite...friendly.

Not for the first time, a traitorous part of Rey wonders if it could be more than friendly.

Rey is transitioning to the front kitchen when Ben emerges from his office, coat in hand and looking a little pale. He halts her in the corridor with a distracted gesture.

“Rey,” he says gruffly, “Try to stay at the front tonight.”

“What?”

Ben runs a hand through his hair, looking almost distressed. “We’re having a visitor,” he says with an urgency she doesn’t understand. Connix starts to come down the corridor and his gaze flicks over to her. “Just- try to stay out of his way.”

“Sure,” agrees Rey, having no idea what she’s agreeing to.

Ben nods curtly, then walks away, pulling on his long wool coat (black, of course) as he goes. Rey hears the bell on the front door ring as he walks out.

  
  


\---

It’s just bad luck that Rey is ignoring Ben’s advice when he comes back to First Order.

Rey is juicing her second crate of oranges in the back kitchen, prepping the fresh juice they offer on the menu. Her hands are cold from slicing and holding refrigerated fruit on top of the spinning machinery for the past 40 minutes; one of her hands is further numbed from when she lost her grip and buzzed her hand on the metal. She’s looking down and fully absorbed in the droning whirr of the machine when Ben Solo comes striding into the kitchen.

“What  _ is _ this?”

Rey snaps out of her reverie. She instinctively starts to smile when she sees who it is, but that fades quickly when she sees he’s staring daggers at her. Rey looks around herself. Juicing is a messy process, and Rey is surrounded by pulped husks and clumps of orange innards. Excess juice pools onto the counter and drips onto the floor.

“Uh- sorry,” she says, instinctively responding as if to a reprimand. On this occasion she’s right.

“Why is all this pulp on the counters?” Ben demands, his eyes darting over the mess, “We want juice in their  _ cups _ , not all over the fucking place.”

Rey’s mouth drops open a little. Anger pricks at her throat. She’s heard Ben snap at staff plenty of times, but his ire has rarely ever been directed at her. He certainly hasn’t yelled at her since the start of their new arrangement. But then again, she shouldn’t expect any special treatment, right? 

Rey closes her mouth tightly, and shakes her head.

“Sorry,  _ Solo _ ,” she says, unable to keep her displeasure fully from her voice.

“Don’t apologize to him,” says another man, unexpectedly stepping around Ben into Rey’s view. He’s an older guy she’s never seen before, as tall as Ben but rail thin, bald head, wrinkled face, and some kind of blotch running down a prominent forehead. He reminds Rey of the old ex(?) mob Slavs slouching along the Brighton Beach boardwalk. “That’s my fucking counter you got juice on.”

Rey’s anger picks up a notch and her nostrils flare. “Who are you?” she asks more loudly and pointedly than she normally would.

“I am disappointed,” says the old man, beady eyes fixed on Rey’s. They look like shiny black olives in his doughy face. “Everything was neat as could be in the front, but I see Solo is hiding his garbage in the back.” He waves dismissively in Rey’s direction. “I thought Solo here was going to turn this place around, but I see he’s valuing a pretty face over basic competency.” 

Rey’s eyes widen. What the hell is going on here? She looks to Ben in disbelief, but no help is coming from that corner. Her manager’s fingers are clenching and unclenching, but his face is positively pale with stillness, all emotion fled deep underground. He doesn’t look anything like the Ben who made her an omelette Wednesday night. He doesn’t look anything like the Ben she made smile in this very kitchen.

And then he makes things worse.

“She makes a great sandwich,” he shrugs, words clear but with a sense of  _ distance _ . He’s looking dully into space. 

Rey hears the old man chuckle, but her gaze is zeroed in on Ben’s still face, and she hopes the heat of her betrayal ( _ stupid, how can you feel betrayed?)  _ can thaw the ice of his expression. Maybe it does. Ben’s eyes flicker over to meet hers for the barest instant, and she thinks she sees a flash of guilt in his expression. He looks away quickly again.

“Let’s see if she can clean, too,” says the old man, a nasty smile on his face. 

Rey is frozen, fists clenched.  _ It’s just another creep, just another creep,  _ she repeats to herself in a stream of consciousness that only fans the flames of her anger. She’s learned how to use anger as a shield, though; Rey holds the emotion like a stone and lets it sink her to a cold, rational place. 

“I’ll get a trash bag,” says Rey grimly, still looking at Ben. She switches off the juicer and walks past the men, her shoulder momentarily brushing Ben’s arm. For an instant she thinks she feels his fingers follow her, as though he’s trying to catch her hand, but then she’s past them and there’s a watery haze of frustration in her eyes.

When she returns with the bag, both men have disappeared into the office.

\---

Rey avoids the back area like the plague for the next hour, staying focused on her work to keep from shouting in frustration. 

_ What a fucking  _ creep, she thinks over and over, polishing the stony surface of her anger. 

She means both the old man and Ben Solo, of course. If she’s being honest with herself, Rey is madder at Ben. The old guy is a piece of work, but what kind of man just stands by and lets his employees get dumped on? A manager should be able to ask her professionally to clean up her station, not berate her in front of a stranger. Not insinuate some sexist shit about her worth. She’s a teacher, for god’s sake. She helps people, not by making them  _ sandwiches, _ but by educating their children. If only it paid well, she wouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here. She’s better than this-

Rey angrily drops a basket of chicken into the fryer, averting her face from the sizzling oil and hiding her tears in her shoulder. After a long moment she takes a deep breath and wipes her face once.

Rey has had a lot of creepy managers, actually. Some of them said far worse things to her than the old man, and one had even tried to do something worse. Rey is used to assholes, but despite his occasional temper Ben hadn’t seemed like one. Maybe it was the way he’d carried her to the back kitchen the night she burned herself. Maybe it was the way he now stocked Spicy Sweet Chili chips at his apartment even though he never touched them himself. Whatever the reason, Rey had let her guard down and believed that Ben was better than the average jerk. Now, inevitably, she’s been disappointed. 

Eventually the old guy comes out from the back area, but by now Rey has safely compartmentalized her feelings. He picks a biscuit off of one of the cooling racks and starts eating it as he pushes past the counter door to cross to the public seating. Rey has never focused so closely on an egg sandwich in her life. She gives it several seconds, but when she dares to look up she sees him staring right at her and chewing his biscuit slowly. He has a faint smile on his face that screams wrongness louder than an outright leer ever could. Rey looks down instinctively, but catches herself; she clenches her jaw and forces her head back up. Her hard gaze meets his again, and his smile gets even broader. He pops the last bit of biscuit into his mouth, then slowly turns away and walks out.

_ That’s my fucking counter _ , he’d said. He was definitely acting like he owned the place.

Rey takes a deep breath, then grabs a couple of almost-empty tubs of pickles and heads back to the prep area. Hoping to avoid Ben, she makes a beeline for the walk-in fridge. She lets the door swing shut behind her, holding both tubs to her chest.

Unfortunately, it’s occupied.

Her manager is in the fridge, braced against a shelf with one arm and leaning his forehead against a metal bin. His face is icy pale except for a couple red splashes high on his cheekbones, expression a million miles away. 

At the sound of the door hinges, his dark eyes blink back to the here and now.

Rey is already turning around to grab the door handle.

“Rey-”

“Excuse me,” says Rey flatly, not making eye contact, “I’ll come back later.”

“Rey-” Ben is tall enough that he closes the distance between them in two steps. She feels his large hand close around her upper arm, not much warmer than the air around them.

“ _ Excuse me _ ,” Rey repeats, louder. She jerks the arm that he’s holding, shaking him off. She starts to swing the door open.

Ben engulfs her hand on the door handle, taking control and shutting the door again. Rey whips her head around indignantly, finally looking him in the face.

“Let me go,” she spits, anger boiling over, “I’ve got some  _ sandwiches  _ to make.”

Ben’s face is set grimly. He lets go of her hand but doesn’t back away.

“Rey, that was Snoke,” he says low and fast, as if trying to talk her into standing still, “He’s the business owner-”

“I don’t care who the fuck he is!” Rey says loudly, indignation constricting her voice just short of a shout. She turns her back to the door, leaving a bare 12 inches between her chest and Ben’s. She still has the two tubs clutched under one arm. “What about  _ you _ ?” she demands. “What about what you did? Or  _ didn’t _ do?” Rey glares up at Ben’s frozen face, willing her voice to stay level. “Friends don’t-”  _ Fuck.  _ She tries again. “-whatever this is-” she waves her hand between Ben and herself, then forms a pointer and jabs it into Ben’s chest. “-he was an ass and you  _ let him-  _ I thought you…” she trails off, finger still poking her manager’s chest.

Her  _ manager.  _

A dismal feeling blooms in Rey’s heart. This is stupid. She’s being stupid. She’s expecting too much.

Ben’s jaw is working. He looks even paler than when Rey first walked in.

“I’m sorry,” Rey says, defeated, lowering her finger. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Ben shakes his head jerkily. 

“You didn’t-” his voice croaks, and he swallows and starts again. “You don’t know. Can I explain?” 

Rey sighs, feeling utterly deflated.

“I just want to finish my shift,” she says, looking away.

Unseen by her, Ben’s expression collapses. Then, second by second, it rebuilds into something flat and finished.

“Of course,” he says dully. “Let me get out of your way.”

Rey’s eyes flick up to his face. He inclines his head and she silently steps to the side. Ben takes the handle and opens the door. Rey keeps watching him as the door swings shut, and through the small glass window in the metal door she sees him continue past his office and down the corridor. She feels dangerously empty, the calm before a storm.

A few minutes later, Rey exits the fridge with two fresh bins of pickles. At the front of the store Snap and Connix are manning the fryer and register, respectively. Customers chat and laugh. Music plays. Everything seems normal.

Snap leans over to her. “Did something break back there?” he asks.

_ My heart, a little. _

“No,” says Rey out loud. “Why?”

Snap shrugs. “Solo walked out of the store. Figured he needed to pick up something in a hurry.”

Rey shrugs back.

“He’ll probably be back soon.”

\---

Ben doesn’t reappear, something everyone notices but doesn’t speculate about. Both the Lord and Ben Solo work in mysterious ways.

By the time 4am rolls around, though, they’re starting to wonder about logistics. 

Connix eyes the register dubiously. “Should I just...leave this here?” she asks, referring to the cash box. “I’m not gonna wait here all night to lock up.”

A huge part of Rey wants nothing more than to leave First Order. She wants to head home now and just forget this rotten night ever happened, sleep until 2pm and watch stupid shows with Finn. It doesn’t feel right to abandon the store, though, not when Ben is out there somewhere with the only key to secure it. 

“Let’s just get this place cleaned up,” she says with more confidence than she feels. “By the time we’re done he’ll be back.”

Snap and Connix don’t argue with that, and they pitch in on the usual dish washing, sweeping, and polishing that every restaurant requires at the end of a night. By 4:30am everything is pretty much squared away, but their boss is still MIA. Rey, who they’ve all unconsciously deputized, approves Connix to head out. Snap stays with her, re-polishing the stainless steel counter of the front kitchen and idly trading gossip about Mitaka. Rey still wants to leave, but a stubborn spark inside her keeps her waiting, waiting, waiting.

Finally, the front door bell rings.

Ben enters First Order, coatless on this chilly March night, hands jammed into his pockets. He pauses in the entryway, looking around at the spotless public area like he’s just another customer.

He nods brusquely without looking at them. “I’ve got it from here.”

Snap grabs his waiting coat and messenger bag. He tilts his head at Rey, silently asking her if she wants to head out together. Rey shakes her head dismissively, pairing it with a little shrug as if to say “someone’s gotta do it.” Snap nods and heads out, briefly having to wait in front of Ben since their manager has failed to move since he first walked in. Ben steps to the side wordlessly, still looking at the tables and chairs.

Then it’s just Rey and Ben.

For a moment they’re standing in silence, Rey considering him and him avoiding her gaze. Then he starts mechanically walking forward. 

“Is the back this clean?” he says, heading right to the register.

“Yeah,” says Rey, pushing up against the counter to make room for Ben as he passes by. She catches a whiff of his apartment- his smell.

Ben just nods in reply. His broad back is turned towards Rey, and she hears him spring the register open.

Rey waits quietly.

Ben rifles through the cash, starting to count methodically. He gets through the ones, the fives, starts the tens. Then he stops. Turns his head so that she can see his face in profile; it’s the scarred side, still a line of red down his face even after all these weeks. He holds his place expectantly, and Rey doesn’t know what she’s going to say until it pops out of her mouth.

“You said you would explain,” she says thinly.

Ben turns his head back towards the register. The background music has long since been shut off; the only sound in the store is the faint hum of machinery, the distant sound of pedestrians talking, and the crinkle of cash in Ben’s hands. Rey isn’t sure if he’s going to start talking or not.

“Snoke,” he begins, slowly, “is the actual creator of First Order. This is my building, my family’s building, but I pay him so I can run a First Order out of it. He’s...been in my life a long time.”

Rey stays silent, fingers lightly tracing the cool counter. She watches Ben’s shoulders roll with repetitive motion.

“Snoke doesn’t know about you,” Ben continues, methodically flipping through the paper bills. “He doesn’t know you work only three shifts. He doesn’t know you’re not on the payroll. You are one of the very few things he doesn’t know about.” Ben’s voice is oddly calm, hypnotic. The bills crisply flick, flick, flick. “If he knew, he would not be happy. He’d make me fire you.”  _ Flick.  _ “So, I don’t want him to know who you are.”  _ Flick. _ “I wanted you in the front so he wouldn’t notice you. That didn’t work, so I tried to make you seem useless, forgettable.”  _ Flick. _

Ben stops, finally, and partially turns so that he can look full-on at Rey. His dark hair hangs and frames his face, brown eyes frank. 

“I need him to think you’re nobody,” he says. His lips part, hesitating. “But you’re not, not to me.”

Rey’s heart feels tight, like the muscles have all contracted. She takes a painful breath; the stone of her anger cracks a little, letting something hurt and vulnerable emerge. 

“You’re a fucking asshole, Ben,” she says, voice quivering. 

He swallows. “I know.”

“You can’t treat me like nobody,” she says slowly, taking a step forward. “Even if he’s there.” She folds her arms tight across her chest, defensively. “Even if you’re well-intentioned. No job is worth it.”

Ben turns fully around to face her, laying the cash on the counter. He takes a hesitant step forward.

“I-” his brow furrows, but he pushes through, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Rey twists her jaw, looking away so he won’t see her eyes grow brighter with emotion.

“Well.” she says roughly, “Ok.”

“Ok?”

“No. But it’s a start.”

The air between them feels solid, as though the physical pull between them is perfectly counteracted by their mental push away from each other. 

Ben breaks first. He stretches his hand out.

“Shake on it?”

Rey meets his gaze, then slowly uncrosses her arms. She reaches out and her soft fingers slide over his palm. He closes his hand around hers.

“Deal,” she says softly.

With a gentle tug, Ben pulls her a step closer. He catches her other hand with his free one, lifts both up near his chest; he wordlessly traces her knuckles and the faint red splash of old oil burns. Warm relief diffuses through Rey’s body, melting the tension. She slowly lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

It’s ok. They’ll be ok.

“Stay over tonight,” says Ben, a deep rumble above her head; it’s his usual trick, a question as a statement.

“It’s against the rules,” says Rey with a humorless laugh, starting to retrieve her hands.

He doesn’t let go. His eyes are soft, pleading even if he won’t. “I’ve followed too many rules tonight,” he says.

Rey carefully pulls away, and this time Ben lets her. She looks up at him, checking her gut instincts. A tired smile finally pulls at her lips.

“Buy me dinner first?”

Her manager smiles back. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring storage rooms and thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends! I'm back a little earlier than expected with an unexpected bridge chapter. Basically, Ben wasn't supposed to ask Rey to stay with him last chapter, but the idiot really insisted so I wrote it that way and then this whole diversion happened. I hope you enjoy it! As always, your kudos, comments, and shares absolutely make my day :)

Rey wakes up in Ben’s apartment Saturday morning, and the world has not ended.

She’s on the couch in the now-familiar gray twilight, one leg sticking out from under the blankets and drool crusting the side of her cheek. She stretches luxuriously, idly wiping the spit away; it’s the weekend, and for once it feels like she has all the time in the world.

Rey uses her feet to push her blanket all the way to the end of the couch and scratches her stomach under the baggy Nirvana t-shirt. Her belly still feels a little bloated from all the Indian food they ordered last night as a kind of reconciliation dinner. With no reason to go to bed quickly, and hoping to bury the still-bruised silence between them, Rey had convinced Ben to watch _Friday the 13th_ while they ate.

“You’ve never seen it before, it’s lame horror, and it’s basically still Friday night,” Rey had said, ticking off each item on her fingers.

Ben made a distasteful face. “I don’t like horror movies.”

“It’s _lame horror_ ,” Rey reiterated, pushing that finger down again.

Rey was betting that, after tonight, Ben wouldn’t want to start anything approaching an argument. And she was right. Not willing to admit defeat, he nonetheless sighed and tossed the remote over to Rey, who gleefully started queuing up the movie.

Once the movie started, though, Rey hadn’t been sure where to sit. Or _how_ to sit. Ben seemed completely unfazed on his side of the couch, sunk down with his long legs stretched out onto the coffee table and his arms comfortably crossed over his middle. From the way he benignly ignored her, you would never guess that less than an hour ago he’d reached out to caress her hands, or that he’d said she wasn’t nothing. Rey hesitated for a minute, then opted to curl up on her side, head propped on a pillow against the armrest and feet facing Ben.

 _It’s like watching a movie with Finn, you’re fine._

The movie turned out to be a perfect distraction. Neither she nor Ben talked about what happened downstairs earlier; they didn’t talk to each other at all beyond short quips about the film. The more things went to hell at Camp Crystal Lake, the more healed Rey felt from the ups and downs of the night. In fact, she started to nod off.

Something warm draped on top of her.

Rey cracked an eye open, surprised to find them shut. The TV was off and the lights mostly out. Ben was sitting on the couch by her legs, straightening the blanket he’d just covered her with.

“Sorry,” she’d muttered, rubbing her face.

“It’s late,” Ben said. “I’m heading to bed anyway.”

 _Stay,_ she wanted to say.

“Okay,” she said instead, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

Ben lingered. “Thank you for staying tonight,” he said quietly, tucking the blanket under her feet.

Rey wiggled her feet a little, brushing his hands through the thick fabric. “Anytime,” she said drowsily.

Ben had looked down at her, expression inscrutable. Then he’d pushed up off of the couch and disappeared down the hall. 

\---

Now it’s morning and Rey can’t find her host.

“Ben?” calls Rey, walking down the hallway. Her phone is still in her coat pocket, but even without checking the time she’s guessing it’s late enough for Ben to be awake.

She doesn’t hear a reply, so Rey continues towards his bedroom door. “Ben?” She turns her head against the wood grain, listening for an answer. No response.

Rey hesitates for a moment, then decides that Ben still owes her for the nonsense with Snoke last night. Serves him right if she wakes him up. Serves _her_ right if he sleeps without blankets, in the nude. She shivers a little at the thought.

Rey reaches out and gingerly turns the doorknob, slowly pushing the door ajar. The smell hits her first; his room smells masculine and musky, not in a bad way, but like it’s closer to his skin. Rey peeks her head further in to see his bureau, a closet, and some dark clothes strewn on the floor. Like the rest of the house, the walls are gray and no pictures hang from them. There are vertical blinds in the window and they’ve been scrolled up, letting a slice of warm light stream over the large bed.

It’s empty.

Rey fights down a wave of disappointment. Reluctantly, she pulls her head back out and carefully shuts the door again. Rey pads out to the living area, then back to the open bathroom, calling Ben’s name once more. Slowly, inevitably, when no answer comes, she drifts to a halt in front of the _other_ door. The one to the supposed storage room.

Every time Rey has slept over at Ben’s, part of her has been drawn back to this original mystery. That part of Rey wants to know the unknown, wants to solve Ben like a puzzle. It urges her to look inside, even though Ben had essentially shut the door in her face and has in no way addressed it since.

That part of Rey wants to snoop.

Rey is certain that Ben isn’t in the apartment. He’s considerate enough- of her anyway- that he probably let her sleep while he stepped out to do an errand or something. For all she knows, he’s right below her feet inside First Order taking care of business matters. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be gone for long, but he _is_ gone.

“Just storage,” Rey murmurs to herself.

She glances around herself; even looks up at the ceiling superstitiously. All clear. Before her resolve can waver, Rey takes a deep breath and grabs the doorknob to the second room, firmly twists and pushes.

Like the first time, Rey only gets the door partially open before it hits something heavy. Her heart similarly halts and quivers in her chest. This time, though, Rey keeps pushing and feels the object slide backwards a bit, yielding slowly to her pressure. She gets a wild flight of fancy that she’s pushing against her conscience to pry into this particular secret.

Then the door is ⅔ open, and Rey is looking in on…

...storage.

The space was likely used as a bedroom once, but now it’s heavily cluttered with cloth-draped furniture, a dim smell of dust hanging low over everything. Rey can see dust motes swirling in the air against the dim-gold light filtering in through drawn blinds; the light matches the warm yellow-gold paint on the walls, so unlike the cool gray in the rest of the apartment. From the doorway, she can also make out a disassembled four-poster bed leaning against the wall, a dining room table, some chairs. There’s the outline of picture frames under one cloth. A pile of books lies in a haphazard pile on the floor. In the far corner, a child’s rocking horse glows pale yellow and red.

Did that used to be Ben’s?

Rey regards the mostly-covered contents of the room with the practiced eye of a pawn shop employee, unwittingly using what Unkar Plutt taught her years ago. The furniture she can see is mostly mahogany wood, Colonial Revival probably; she’d guess 1930s. Some pieces, like a well-worn armchair, are definitely more modern and would sell for far less.

 _Only the person who pawned it would want it_ , comes Plutt’s crass voice from her memory. 

Rey shakes her head, trying to clear it, unwittingly sending more dust motes spiraling. Plutt would dismiss this room as a junk drawer, but despite its abandoned appearance Rey wouldn’t describe it that way. There’s something deliberate about all of this mess, some hovering reason why it’s been exiled but not thrown. Only locked away, cinched off like an infected limb. Rey stands at the threshold of the dusty room, wishing she knew the explanation, but there’s only one person who could tell her.

Rey faintly hears the street door open.

“Shit,” she mutters. 

_Ben._

Heavy footsteps sound briskly on the flight of stairs leading up to the apartment, but Rey is already stepping back out of the storage room and swinging the door shut. She irrationally wipes her hands on her shirt, as if to erase the evidence, then skitters into the bathroom down the hall and shuts the door just as the lock on the apartment’s front door clicks.

Rey splashes warm water onto her face, one ear trained on the sound of Ben re-entering the apartment. She towels off briskly, then exits the bathroom like she’s been there the whole time.

“Good morning,” she calls, willing her heart to stop pounding.

“Good afternoon,” Ben corrects her. As Rey enters the living area, she sees that Ben is wearing just a t-shirt and joggers; his face and arms are reddened from cold and exertion, and he’s pulling off running shoes. Rey momentarily forgets about the mysterious storage room.

“Oh _no,”_ says Rey, horrified.

Ben looks up, hair draped in his face and hand still frozen on one sneaker. He blinks.

“What?”

“You’re one of _those people,_ ” Rey says, shaking her head, “who run outside in the winter. Making everyone feel like shit AND pity you at the same time.”

Ben’s lips twang to the side. He finishes popping off the sneaker.

“Uh-huh.” 

“ _Sensible_ folk were sleeping in this morning,” says Rey primly, slipping onto one of the barstools by the kitchen counter.

“ _Sensible_ folk must not need coffee,” says Ben. He nods over at two to-go cups on the counter, still steaming.

“Hm.” Rey reaches out for one of the coffees and wraps her hands around it. The warmth seeps into her fingers. “Being sensible, I can be persuaded.” She looks down to pop the tab open on her drink. Casually swinging her gaze back upwards, she starts to bring the cup to her lips. 

And freezes.

Ben Solo has pulled off his t-shirt.

The black fabric is balled up in his fist and he’s swiping it over his sweaty torso: down between his pecs...over his abs...to his waistband…

Rey makes a choked noise and Ben looks up. Totally oblivious to how lickable his chiseled front is. 

“Too hot?” he asks, concerned.

Rey isn’t sure if she’ll die by fire in her cheeks, or her throat strangling her.

She shakes her head slightly and lowers the coffee back to the counter so she can cover her face.

“Coffee’s fine,” she says faintly, voice slightly echoing under her hands. She takes a breath. “Do you need a clean shirt? Or something?”

“Oh.” She’s glad to hear he sounds at least a _little_ embarrassed. Rey peeks up and sees him looking down at himself like he’s only just noticed he has a torso with the width and topography of the Rocky Mountains. “I’ll take a shower, be right back.”

Rey ducks her eyes down until he passes by her, then turns in her stool to watch him disappear down the hallway. The curve of his spine is tantalizing, disappearing into his joggers.

“Get a grip,” Rey mutters to herself. It’s not like she didn’t _know_ Ben was muscular; there were always hints of his physique in the lines of his crossed arms, the strain of his shirt across his shoulders. Seeing it all on display at once, though, will be difficult to un-see. 

Draped on the stool next to her, Rey’s jacket buzzes. Rey hunts for her phone, welcoming the distraction.

<Hey Peanut, any chance you can get next Saturday off? I finally decided what I’m doing for my birthday>

Rey frowns thoughtfully at her phone, considering Finn’s text. She can’t decide if it’s great timing or not; on one hand, Ben is clearly apologetic about what happened with Snoke and may give her the day off, but on the other hand she doesn’t want to press him for more favors. Rey may get real professional benefits from her relationship with Ben Solo, but she doesn’t want to make it purely transactional. She wants…

Well, what does she want?

Rey looks down the dark hallway, where she can hear the shower running. Tries to arrange her thoughts and not picture Ben naked under the water.

Ben Solo is her manager, she thinks firmly to herself. That’s why they know each other in the first place, what gives them a reason to see each other, and why their friendship is a secret. But they _do_ have a friendship. That’s why she gets to break work rules and why they spend time together outside of work. That’s why Ben apologized to her last night. 

Rey tries it on for size: Ben Solo is her friend.

They don’t text, they don’t see each other except on work nights, but they’re friends.

The only problem is, Rey is ready to admit to herself that she may want more than friendship. So maybe the real question is: what does Ben want?

\---

When Ben emerges 10 minutes later, mercifully clothed and hair still dripping, Rey is making a huge cheesy omelette.

“Did you use all my eggs?” he asks. Rey, back towards him, hears the humor in his tone and shrugs.

“This is all for me, I don’t know what you’re doing for breakfast.”

“Ingrate,” he huffs, drawing close to Rey’s back.

“I can’t be bought with coffee,” she says mildly.

Ben’s hands plant on either side of her, and he leans in to look at the omelette over her shoulder. Rey buries a quiver in her stomach, feeling the heat of his body like a shawl, just out of reach.

“That looks like all my cheese, too,” says Ben dryly.

Rey scoffs. “You say that like there was a lot to begin with.”

“Mm.”

Ben doesn’t move away, and a bubble of hope blooms in Rey’s stomach. _Is he my friend? Is he more than a friend?_ The words float through Rey’s mind, substituted for “he loves me, he loves me not.”

A drop of water lands on Rey’s shoulder and she glances up from the eggs to Ben’s face. It’s much closer than she expected, hovering over and even with her shoulder.

“Hey,” she says in mock protest, “you’re like the alien from _Alien_ with the dripping acid. Don’t you dry your hair?”

“I said I’d be right back,” he rumbles.

Trying to act with more confidence than she feels, Rey turns a little in the shadow of Ben’s arms and reaches up. She takes one long, wet strand of Ben’s hair and runs her fingers down along it, gathering the water at its tip where it trembles and falls as a drop.

“You’re soaked,” she says, but it comes out more of a murmur. Ben’s brown eyes are on her face like a hawk, searching. He doesn’t move his head away.

“I’d dry off,” he says, “but I think you like me better with my shirt on.”

Rey’s fingers linger on his hair, twisting the strand slightly. At his words she smiles and gives it a little tug.

“Hm,” she says, noncommittal.

There it is, then. Unmistakable. Ben’s eyes flick down to her lips. Rey’s bubble of hope swells.

She lets go of his hair and turns back to the eggs.

“These are starting to smoke,” she chides. “Go dry off for real, they’ll be ready when you get back.”

Ben grunts. It takes him a few seconds longer than Rey to start moving again, but then he pushes back from the counter and briefly, so briefly Rey’s eyes close to savor it, his hand steadies itself against her hip.

Then he’s walking away, and Rey has her answer. 

\---

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Rey says, “but it would mean so, so much if I could have the day.”

She and Ben are on the couch, him still finishing his half of the enormous omelette, Rey’s empty plate on the coffee table. She’d just asked him if she could take next Saturday off for Finn’s birthday. It was weird and almost a little painful to see Ben’s usual poker face come back up when they switched over to business talk.

Ben finishes chewing his bite. “Who’s Finn?” he asks, tone even.

Rey blinks.

“My best friend,” she says, “we both worked at a diner a couple of years ago. He’s one of my roommates.”

Ben just looks at her. He cuts off another bite of the omelette with his fork.

“I can get someone to cover my shift,” Rey hastens to add, “Or I can work more weeknights this week to make up for it. Finn and I barely see each other even though we live together and, you know, birthday.”

Rey realizes after she says it that maybe Ben _doesn’t_ know. She can’t picture him smiling and laughing at a table of people, raising a toast to the birthday boy.

Ben slowly chews, considering, and Rey lets him swallow in silence. She resists the urge to reach out, put her hand on his knee. _Please?_ she’d say, _do it for me?_

Ben runs his free hand through his hair, exhaling lightly.

“Fine,” he says, “find someone to cover your shift and you can have the day.”

A huge smile breaks across Rey’s face.

“Thanks Ben,” she says, “Finn is gonna be so happy.”

Her manager grunts. 

“You aren’t going to try to get out of tonight’s shift, are you?”

“No, no,” says Rey emphatically, shaking her head. “Though…” she picks up her phone and checks the time “I should go home and get changed, water my plant.”

Ben opens his mouth to say something, then stops. He nods at her. “Makes sense,” he says noncommittally. “You should head out now, shift starts at 7.”

“Yeah, I should get dressed,” says Rey. She looks down at herself, still in his pyjamas. “Unlike _some_ people, I will wait til the bathroom to take my shirt off.”

A glint of humor, and something else, flashes in Ben’s eyes. “What if I close my eyes,” he says, amusement deepening his voice.

Rey toys with the hem of her shirt, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. The way Ben’s gaze involuntarily zeroes in on her wandering hands floods her with a surge of power. She resists the urge...for now.

“I told you before,” she says, dropping the hem and standing up, “I’m a _sensible_ person.” 

Rey heads back to Manhattan feeling lighter than she has in weeks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happening, IT'S HAPPENING!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo excited to bring you this chapter, it's one of my favorite so far! A few of these scenes are the first I ever wrote for this fic, so it's really satisfying to put them out into the world. Possible trigger warning: the actions between Rey and Ben take place when they're both pretty drunk, though I think they communicate relatively well about it. Let me know what you think in the comments!

It takes a very special occasion for Rey to trek out to Brooklyn on her day off, but Finn’s birthday is definitely special. Still, the irony isn’t lost on her.

“If I knew you were gonna party in Brooklyn, I would have just told you to come to First Order,” Rey grumps. She and Finn are alone in the apartment, eating dinner before they head out. 

“Biscuits don’t trump booze,” Finn lectures, waving his fork. “I’ve got a buddy named Poe,” he says, “He’s a bartender at D’Qar, the place we met up at last month. With him at the bar, we get everything basically for free as long as we tip.” 

Rey is chewing sautéed kale, the simplicity of her dinner due more to lack of funds than health consciousness. “Good deal,” she says with her mouth full. She swallows in one painful gulp. “Is he cute?”

“Yes,” says Finn airily. He’s eating tacos for probably the second week running, cheap in his own way. “But you’re not his type.”

Rey makes an outraged noise. “He’s not into  _ this _ ?!” She gestures dramatically down at herself, sitting in old Batman boxers and a hole-y t-shirt on the living room floor. Her legs are splayed out comfortably and are the level of unshaven where people think you’re trying to make a political statement.

Finn snorts in laughter and looks at Rey fondly. “His loss, really,” he says, “but you’ve got too many boobs and vaginas for him.”

“You told him about my spare?” Rey deadpans, picking up her $8 Trader Joe wine bottle for a sip.

“Just the one,” Finn affirms gravely. Then he breaks and chuckles again, Rey laughing with him.

Rey loves her friendship with Finn, loves how easy it is to feel at ease, how simple it is to feel cared for and caring in return. Caring is like a muscle to her, something she doesn’t let herself exercise much in her life. With Finn, it feels like her whole body can relax.

“Well, if you know any cute guys who are into single vaginas, let me know,” says Rey, looking down at her wine bottle. She starts peeling the label off at the edges, an old habit.

“I thought you didn’t have time to date anyone,” says Finn gently, and Rey marvels at how he’s allowed to make that kind of statement, to prod the stones Rey would normally rather leave unturned.

Rey blows air out past her lips. “Well,” she sighs, “That and...I guess I just got sick of the one-offs.” She pauses and Finn patiently waits. “I know my schedule is shit,” she begins, “I mean, I hardly even get to see you, and I want to, but I think- I think I’m at the point where I’d make time. If there were someone special.” 

“I thought you had something special going on,” Finn says cautiously, “Or  _ unique _ , at least. With your manager.”

“Oh,” says Rey, cheeks rouging. “Well. Maybe.” She takes a deep breath. “I guess we’ll see.”

A sudden wave of energy surges through Rey. “Ok,” she says decisively, pulling herself up by the coffee table. “Enough of this talk. I am showering, shaving, and then doing shots with you.”

“Are you getting dressed somewhere in between the shower and shots?”

Rey starts down the hall towards her room. “For you,” Rey calls over her shoulder, “I’ll consider it.”

\---

Two hours later, Rey and Finn are both a little tipsy and in her usual Brooklyn neighborhood, but for once it’s for pleasure, not business. They roll up to D’Qar, which is exactly as Rey remembered it: all cozy booths on the inside and a crowded wooden bar. As soon as she and Finn enter, a group of people Rey vaguely recognizes let out a shout: it’s Finn’s other friends, the ones he knows through school, work, and however else one collects friends in New York City.

The bartender, a suave looking man Rey assumes is Poe, jogs out from behind the bar as soon as Finn draws near.

He wraps Finn in an embrace and kisses him.

Rey blinks, surprise raising her eyebrows. When Finn comes up for air, he looks back at her with a foolishly happy, somewhat guilty look on his face.

“Was this your “business” here the other night?” calls Rey.

Finn’s grin widens. 

“Poe,” he says, slapping the other man’s shoulder. “Meet my best friend.”

Rey gives the bartender a genuine smile. “Hi,” she says, “I’m Rey.”

“I know,” says Poe, reaching out to shake her hand. Up close and unattached from Finn’s mouth, he has a clever, handsome face with stubble on his cheeks and rakishly slicked back hair. Rey feels a slight pang of disappointment that he’s already taken, but mostly she’s proud of her friend for landing him. 

“First drinks on the house!” says Poe, giving Rey another smile and Finn a quick peck before heading back behind the bar. Rey walks up to stand next to her friend; she nudges Finn with her hip.

“‘My buddy Poe,’” she quotes back at him, smirking.

Finn doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Well, I told you he’s not into vaginas.”

\---

The night passes in a raucous blur, Rey rotating through small groups of Finn’s other friends. As usual, Rey deftly avoids superficial small talk about her family or upbringing by turning the questions back onto the other participants; no one notices her deflection, especially since cheap drinks have been flowing as promised. One woman, Jessika, is also a teacher, so the two of them spend a good half hour talking shop about their best and worst students and co-teachers. Rey is on her fourth cocktail and ready to unload some Phasma stories.

“...so the tampon is just laying there on the floor where it fell out of my bag earlier, but the kids are facing forward watching me read, right?” Rey sweeps her hand dramatically, setting the scene for a captive Jess. “And I’m just staring at it, it’s all I can see.” She takes a sip. “And I’m like, craning my neck, trying to make eye contact with Phasma. I need to  _ deputize  _ her to pick the damn thing up.” Rey shakes her head sadly. “Nothing. No help at all. So I get up,  _ with  _ the picture book in hand, and scuff the tampon over towards the bookshelf. Discreet. Think I’ve been so clever. And then-” she makes eye contact with Jess and leans in. “Phasma says,  _ is that a tampon? _ Out loud. Totally disgusted.”

Jessika laughs, snorting into her own drink. “How’d you explain it away?” 

“I didn’t,” groans Rey. “I panicked. Now all the Caterpillars know some women need tampons once a month.”

Jess laughs again. “Well,” she says, leaning back, “it’s really nice to meet another teacher. Finn said something about you working at a restaurant, so that’s what I was expecting.”

Rey’s smile fades a bit.

_ A teacher?  _ Unkar Plutt’s voice sneers in her mind.  _ That would be the blind leading the blind. Stick with what you’re good for, brat. _

Rey forces her smile to hitch back up.

“I’ve worked a bit in restaurants before, he’s not wrong,” she says. A sudden wave of restlessness sweeps over her, and Rey takes a final slurp from her drink then slides off her stool. “Excuse me.”

Rey makes her way past Jess, past the clusters of standing people, and outside onto the relatively quiet sidewalk. Her breath plumes faintly, the night being pretty cold for late March. Luckily she’s wearing her black pleather jacket, but underneath it are only black jeans and a semi-translucent black t-shirt that slips off her shoulders. The alcohol she’s consumed bolsters her against the cold, oozing under her skin like a lava lamp. Rey steps unsteadily away from a knot of people trading cigarettes and posts up near a fire hydrant, pulling out her phone. Her best friend is already inside the bar behind her, but suddenly that doesn’t feel like enough.

Not sure precisely what drives her, Rey starts scrolling back through her old phone calls. She doesn’t get many- no family and only one friend will do that for you- so in no time at all she’s looking at an unfamiliar New York number that called her briefly on a Sunday afternoon in February.

Her manager, checking in after she’d burned herself.

It could be the First Order store number. She could be misremembering, and it’s actually some insurance company. Regardless, Rey very, very carefully adds the number to her contacts. She decides to call it “Ben.”

\--- 

It’s an hour later. Rey’s had another shot at Poe’s insistence, and she’s feeling pretty great. People’s faces seem to shimmer at the corner of her eyes, and when she turns to face them a lazy swoop of heat pulses through her head. She and Finn’s new boyfriend have cornered the birthday boy; they’ve been cracking dirty jokes to see who can turn his ears red first.

Finn hides his burning cheeks in his hands. “You two,” he groans, “are worse than a couple of drunk uncles.”

“I hope you don’t think of me as family,” pouts Poe. In answer, Finn grabs him by the shirtfront and pulls him in for a messy kiss.

Rey averts her gaze up at the ceiling, smiling. “Is it that late already?” she asks.

The two men pull apart, looking a little dazed. Finn shakes his head briskly, then pulls out his phone and checks the time. “It...isss...only 2:30!” he says, triumphant. Then promptly yawns. “I don’t know how you do it, Rey.”

“Cocaine,” she asserts. “We’re snorting cocaine off of dicks left and right in food service.”

Poe guffaws, and Finn’s ears finally, definitively, turn red.

“Well, maybe off of  _ one  _ dick,” Finn says slyly, rubbing his ears.

“Oi!”

Her friend laughs. “Now you’ve turned red!”

Poe slings an arm over Finn’s shoulders. The bartender begged one of his other friends to cover the end of his shift so he could come out and hang; Rey gets the feeling that Poe can be very persuasive. Now, Poe uses his free hand to pull up the Lyft app on his phone.

“Babe, we could be back at my place in 15 minutes,” he says, “if you’re feeling tired.”

_ Babe,  _ Rey mouths at Finn. He sheepishly grins.

“That sounds pretty good, actually,” says Finn. Then he stops, brow furrowing. “Wait, what about you Peanut? We came together, I don’t want to ditch you.”

“Oh, shit,” says Poe, looking chastised. “You can definitely stay on my couch if you want. I’ve got a fat orange kitten who’ll sleep on your head, but if you’re not allergic…”

_ Stay on the couch? _

“No, no,” Rey says, a half-baked plan sparking to life. A plan that’s been lurking at the back of her mind ever since she saved Ben’s number in her phone. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna take a cab home or something.”

Finn catches her hand, looking at her seriously through his drunken haze.

“You  _ sure?  _ Say the word, we can go home together. Poe can come back to Manhattan.”

To her horror, Rey feels her eyes well up slightly. Finn is just such a  _ good  _ friend. She doesn’t feel like she deserves him half the time.

She squeezes his hand back, reassuring. “You go with Poe,” she says. “See what else he can turn red.”

Finn groans and hides his face, while Poe laughs and claps Rey on the back.

“It was awesome meeting you,” the bartender says with a genuine smile. “I can see why Finn won’t shut up about you.”

Rey smiles back.

\---

Finn and Poe wave at Rey until their car is out of sight, and then it’s just Rey standing alone on the sidewalk. She  _ could  _ go back into the bar and keep chatting with her new acquaintances, but the restlessness from earlier is back, and she finds herself walking instead, buoyed by liquid courage. The night no longer feels cold, and the night still feels  _ young _ . There’s something freeing about being drunk and unencumbered in one of the liveliest cities in the world.

Rey catches herself circling automatically towards First Order, so she stops herself by ducking into a nondescript Irish pub. Arctic Monkeys are playing, low and bass-heavy, over the speakers, and a few lively groups are taking up most of the tables. Rey beelines for the bar instead, feeling a little out of place but not awkwardly so. She orders a lager, then pulls her phone out onto the bar and stares at it.

So.

Rey doesn’t consciously make any decisions, but she lets her feelings from the night settle like silt in a muddy puddle. The restlessness, self-doubt. Finn and Poe, together. A new contact number. Rey’s halfway through her lager before she finally, fatefully, unlocks her phone.

Rey types the 3 letters of Ben’s name with great care, everything besides her screen seeming to blur and spin slightly.

“O-o-okay,” she says under her breath, opening a text. “Nothing wrong with this, nothing weird at all.”

<Hey it’s Rey I’m>

She hits send accidentally and swears. No backing down now.

<sorry>

<I’m out later than I meant to be>

<can I stay on the couch?>

Rey bites her fingernail, then adds another

<sorry>

Anxiety thrilling in her stomach, Rey quickly flips her phone face down on the bar and takes another pull from her beer. She almost reaches for the phone again to scroll through Instagram, but forces herself to focus on the football game playing over the bar instead. Her eyes keep drifting back to the phone, partly from anticipation and partly because she can’t follow the game in her inebriated state. Rey pushes her half-finished beer towards the bartender and asks for a water instead.

_ I can at least not puke on his couch _ , she thinks ruefully.

Forever and a few foggy plays later, Rey’s phone buzzes at her elbow. She smiles but waits, willing her emotions to calm down. Maybe Finn is just checking on her.

One, two buzzes. Then nothing.

Rey snatches up the phone and unlocks it.

<of course>

<but I’m out out right now>

Rey grins down at her screen, dancing her feet on the footrests of her stool. Something about the “of course” sounds so much like him. He’s so sure, she ups the ante without second guessing herself.

<I can meet up with you if that’s easier. Where are you at?>

The ellipses pop up immediately and Ben sends her an address. A quick google-mapping indicates that she’s within walking distance. Before she can chicken out, Rey slips off the bar stool, almost keeps slipping to floor, recovers, and heads out.

\---

The address Ben sent her materializes as a bro-y semi-club. Rey fights down her nerves, sends Ben a text that she’s here, and makes her way in past the bouncer; he seems excited that an actual female is about to enter. Once inside, Rey cranes her neck to look around, dismally unsure that she’ll be able to spot Ben in the press of unusually tall men that pack the room. Is it Norwegian night tonight? Must be this tall to enter?

She has her arms folded tight to her stomach, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible and to not accidentally brush anyone. Anything a few feet beyond her looks a little blurry, and Rey starts to wish that she’d had a bit less to drink at D’Qar.  _ Too late now.  _ Trying to see past the cage of mountainous men around her, Rey goes up onto the balls of her feet, looking for black clothes in the sea of pastel button ups, hoping he’ll appear soon.

“Hey.”

A large hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and Rey spins around. Her vision spins an extra 45 degrees, and she catches the hand to steady herself. Ben’s face momentarily comes into focus. He’s looking down where her hand covers his, a crease in his brow.

“You spooked me,” Rey squeaks, releasing him with a blush.

He takes a moment too long to pull back his hand before looking up at her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d hear me,” he says by way of apology, “It’s crowded tonight.”

Rey snorts out a small laugh. “Is it Easter and I just didn’t know it?” She asks conspiratorially, leaning close to be heard over the noise. “We’re the only two wearing normal colors.”

Sure enough, Ben is wearing a black sweater and dark jeans, and Rey is wearing her loose black t-shirt over black jeans as well. They stick out like a sore thumb. Rey smiles widely up at Ben. Ben’s lips quirk up into a smile back at her.

“We must not have got the memo,” he says. He hesitates, then jerks his head to the left. “We’re sitting in the back.”

“Ok!” Rey says loudly over the thumping bass. Ben turns and starts moving away, and Rey starts to follow but the floor really _ is _ packed, and after a few moments she is already cut off. Rey tries to wedge herself past one guy’s back, but mostly runs into him instead.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says the tall man, turning inadvertently between her and Ben. He leans down with a toothy smile. “Are you looking for someone?” he shouts into her face.

“Uh, just passing through,” says Rey, glancing past him to the receding back of Ben’s head.

“What?” says the man, smiling even more broadly and lowering his face close to hers. There’s an unfamiliar tingling on her side, and Rey senses more than sees that the guy has put his hand on her hip, fingers flexing over the thin fabric.

“UM-“ Rey begins.

“Rey,” comes another loud voice. Loud but level. Ben’s doubled back, and his narrowing eyes take in Rey’s posture, leaning away, and the stranger’s, leaned too far in. The toothy blond guy hasn’t looked away from Rey.

“Cool name,” he says, oblivious.

Ben’s face is still level but he grabs the man by the wrist of his hand that’s touching Rey and pulls it away. The guy startles and is already opening his mouth to complain when he turns and really  _ sees _ Ben’s face. Maybe picks up on the cold murder vibes.

“Oh shit, sorry dude,” says the guy to Ben hastily. “I didn’t know she was with you.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, doesn’t correct him. He lets go of the guy’s wrist with restrained violence, almost throwing it down. His eyes are still promising consequences to the man as he reaches out and takes Rey’s hand. Rey, who has been foggily tracking this all with a red face, feels a thrill of surprise but squeezes back, allowing Ben to lead her away. People part for Ben like the Red Sea.  _ My own personal Moses _ thinks Rey, somewhat to the tune of Personal Jesus, feeling warm. They’re almost at the booths in the back and Rey feels like she should say  _ some _ thing, so she catches up to his side and says “I kind of hate bars like these.”

Ben looks down at her. Something like surprise and maybe guilt quickly pass over his face and he lets go of her hand. He shrugs. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. Or fifth.”

It’s quieter here, so Rey can hear Ben without him raising his voice much.

“Who are your friends?” she pries, “I want the scoop.”

“They aren’t-“ Ben starts to reply, then his eyes narrow a bit as he looks down at her. Rey straightens right away, realizing too late that she’d started to loll to one side. “Are you drunk?” Ben asks.

“Finn’s party was tonight,” Rey blurts out, instinctively saying it like an excuse for work coverage. “I had a little too much to go all the way home, that’s why I texted.” Ben’s brow creases again and Rey quickly continues “-but I’m not wasted or anything! I’m fine.” She laughs. “Feeling good, but fine.”

Ben hesitates. He’s not responding as crisply as he normally would, and Rey’s eyes narrow in sudden suspicion.

“You’re drunk too,” she declares. On closer inspection, Ben’s normally cool expression looks a little flushed, a little more open than usual. Rey points her finger and pushes it into his chest. “What’s your excuse?”

Ben catches her finger in one large hand, but his slight wobble backwards confirms Rey’s suspicions. His eyes flick down to her hand and back up to her face. “I believe,” he says carefully, “that I’m the manager here.”

“We’re not at work,” says Rey simply. She meant it as a quick joke in return to his, but the statement seems to hang in the air, ringing with a kind of importance.

“No,” Ben acknowledges softly. The importance is growing between them, and his fingers feel warm and intimate wrapped around her own. Rey thinks she sees a glimpse of something human in Ben’s eyes, and she hopes desperately that she’s not misreading him.  _ He invited me here, _ she thinks.  _ He didn’t have to do that. _

Ben gently lowers her pointed finger and lets go. “So, the scoop, as you put it,” he says, clearing his throat. “I only see these people about once a month.” It takes Rey a minute to realize he’s talking about his friends.

“I didn’t think you had friends,” she says flippantly, pushing past a sense of disappointment.

“I don’t.” Ben says seriously. His dark eyes are sincere, or maybe they just seem so important because they’re the center of a slightly spinning world. “These are just the other franchise owners.”

Rey’s stomach lurches.

“Is  _ Snoke _ here?”

Ben shakes his head emphatically in the negative. “You wouldn’t be here if he was.”

“Gee, thanks,” says Rey, twisting her lips.

Ben’s expression falls a little. “You know why,” he says quietly, sounding almost...hurt.

Rey sighs. She doesn’t want to get back into this. Not when this night has so much potential.

“Alright,” she says. She reaches up and picks invisible lint off of Ben’s shoulder, the small intimacy of the gesture meant to reassure them both. “Bring me to the other assholes.”

\---

Rey had been joking, but it turns out she’s right.

The franchise owners really suck.

Among the group of seven, there’s an older man called Pryde whose skull sticks a little too far out from his skin. Vicrul is a taciturn bruiser of a man who glowers in his corner far more than he speaks. The youngest one there besides Ben and Rey, a red-head named Hux, smirks when Ben simply says “This is Rey” and sits down.

“Why do you hang out with these people?” Rey hisses in Ben’s ear while the others are up ordering another round of drinks.

“I have to,” he murmurs back, turning his head slightly to aim his voice in her direction. The angle brings his smooth-shaven cheek rather close to Rey’s lips, and she has to tear her gaze away from his jawline. “I told you they aren’t my friends. It’s strictly business.” 

It’s true: for the past half hour the men have just been discussing the ins and outs of running a First Order. Nothing even interesting, like gossip about their employees. Literally how often and how far in advance to order paper towels.

“Maybe I should have met you at your apartment,” says Rey, only half-joking. Her brain feels like it’s starting to go numb; if that’s how  _ she  _ feels after only 30 minutes, then she can understand why Ben has been drinking so heavily.

Ben pulls back his head, fully turning it so he can look at her and assess her mood.

“You hate this,” he says flatly. Statement and question.

Rey dares to reach over below the table and tug at his sweater. 

“I don’t hate  _ this _ ,” she amends. “Seeing  _ you _ is nice.”

Ben’s expression visibly lightens.

“I thought it might be better, with you here,” he admits, words low. 

“Hmm,” Rey hums, a pleased blush staining her cheeks. She doesn’t let go of Ben’s sweater, but instead twists it around her finger, pulling the fabric tighter.  _ Mine.  _ “I think it’s probably ruining me, instead.”

“They won’t ruin you,” he says, voice gravelly on the last two words. It may be a trick of the liquor, but his face seems closer to Rey’s than it was a few seconds ago.

Rey decides that she needs a breather before she misreads a cue and jumps his bones here and now on the table. It would probably be the most exciting thing ever to occur during one of these meetings. She relinquishes Ben’s sweater and pushes her chair away from the table. 

“I’m going to hit the bathroom, want anything while I’m up?”

Perhaps a little unfairly, Rey stretches. She can’t help that it arcs her spine a little, pressing her breasts forward. It’s not her fault that when Ben is seated his eyes are chest-level.

The question hangs in the air.

“No,” says Ben after a pause, a little strangled.

So much for letting things cool down.

Rey walks by the franchise owners on her way to the bathrooms. She’s almost past them when a hand reaches out and grabs her wrist.

“For the love of-”

Rey starts to round on the perpetrator, convinced it’s the blond man from earlier. Instead, it’s the red-head, Hux. She blinks.

Hux graces her with an oily smile, still holding her wrist.

“Rey, is it?  _ Just  _ Rey?”

“Yes,” lies Rey guardedly.

“Solo’s never brought a girl to one of our get-togethers,” sneers Hux, pale eyes sizing her up. “Do you find restaurant logistics fascinating? Or just restaurateurs?”

Rey’s lips thin.

“Is that what you call yourself?” she says, speaking clearly over the music. “I would have said you’re a tool.” 

Hux’s expression sours and he lets go of her wrist like she’s dirty. Rey turns with a flounce and continues on her way to the bathroom. 

\---

Rey sits on the toilet after she’s done her business, giving herself a mental pep talk.

_ He’s your manager. I think he likes you. You should go for it. He’s an asshole. Be careful. _

The thoughts running through her head don’t add up to an easy answer, but there’s a rising heat in her body that she can’t ignore.

She wants to try him.

“Ok, Rey,” she says to herself. “Let’s see how it goes.”

\---

Cool night air, gray sidewalks lit orange under streetlights, passing noise from other pedestrians- when did they leave the bar?

Ben and Rey make their way down the sidewalk, his dark coat flapping as he weaves, her path wobbling to meet his. It’s like their shoulders are magnetized to keep meeting in the middle. They’re talking about nothing in particular, but Rey can’t stop smiling and she finds herself losing her train of thought, just watching Ben’s normally mask-like face move through a range of emotions. His face is so expressive; how did she never see it before?

They approach First Order from the corner, not too drunk to forget that it’s open and the staff members inside would recognize them. 

“Wait,” says Ben, catching Rey’s arm. She turns and looks up at him: stark cheekbones in the light, shadows hiding his eyes. He looks like an ink portrait.

Her fingers curl against the fabric of his sweater, and Rey realizes she’s closed the distance between them. Ben doesn’t move away; he’s fishing in his pocket for his keys, distractedly flipping through them, one-handed. His other hand automatically moves from her arm to circle around her back, holding her in place. Rey shivers.

Finally Ben has the right key, and he guides them both over to the door to his apartment. He unlocks the door, relinquishing his grip on Rey.

“Wait at the top, I’ll be right there.”

Rey nods, then steps inside to the dark of the stairwell. Instead of heading up she leans against the wall, letting it cool her cheek while her mind comfortably drifts. She’s not sure how long she’s standing there, but eventually she hears the harsh hum of First Order’s grate dropping. A moment later the door in front of her is swinging open and her manager steps inside, shutting it firmly behind him.

“You ok?”

“Fine,” Rey murmurs, stirring.

Ben starts up the stairs, skipping the bottom step as usual. It’s a small tic that Rey’s noticed over the course of her nights here. She almost asks him about it, but the thought whips out of her mind as soon as it enters, shuffled along by the nervous energy that’s starting to grow in her gut. 

Then they’re back in Ben’s apartment, the familiar musky scent wafting into Rey’s nose.  _ Home.  _ Ben shrugs his black wool coat off onto the floor, uncharacteristically untidy, and Rey aims her jacket to land on top of it. She looks up when Ben touches her arm.

“Water?”

Rey nods. The only light on is by the door, but it makes her head swim so she turns towards the darkness instead. She kicks off her boots and socks while Ben runs water in the kitchen, then walks across the rug in the living area with her toes luxuriating in the feel. She hears Ben coming around the counter towards her and her nervous energy throbs.

Ben meets her at the intersection of the hallway and the living area, caught between the darkness and the dim glow of the lamp. Two shadows. He wordlessly offers her the glass of water and she takes it from him with both hands, rocking a little backwards when she takes a sip. He reaches out to steady her and she moves closer, bringing the glass back down so she can lean the side of her face against his sweater. When did he move so close? The texture feels reassuringly rough against her cheek, and he’s so solid underneath. It’s like laying in a bed, but upright.

Ben takes the glass from her hands and stretches to set it down on the counter behind him, careful not to disturb Rey’s position against him. His left arm is securely around her waist and his right hand returns, slightly damp from the glass, to rest at the base of her neck. Rey sighs, content. One of her arms circles around his back, the other hand curls into his sweater near her face. 

It’s quiet in the apartment. Safe. Rey’s mind wanders lazily, not really registering that she’s still holding on to her manager, that his arms are laced firmly around her. It could have been minutes or hours later when she sharpens to the awareness that they’re still standing there, still holding each other. Maybe she should pull away, but if he’s not complaining… Rey closes her eyes and gently rubs her cheek against him like a cat. Her nose bumps against the fine ridge of his collarbone. Ben’s arms only tighten around her, which is maybe when Rey starts feeling a faint pulse in her cunt, like her heart has dropped into her crotch. 

Rey’s mouth feels too dry. She licks her lips and moves her hand that’s on Ben’s back, running her fingertips across the valley of his spine. Ben’s arms jump a little, but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers at the base of her neck start to swirl gently, a subtle massage. His chest rises...falls...rises…

Under the lazy spell of the spins, Rey trails her hand up and back down, feeling the curve of his muscles through his sweater. Everything’s slow and sweet. She’s aware that Ben’s head has dropped down and his nose is brushing her hair, warm exhales stirring the strands. His large hand has slid out of its one-armed hug around her waist so that he can return the favor, hesitantly sliding his fingers up over her bared shoulder-blades. Rey lets out a cut sigh of appreciation, pressing her forehead to his chest to give him better access. They still haven’t spoken, and Rey’s mind has ceased to process who they are or if they should be doing this. She only knows what feels good, and it feels  _ great  _ when Ben’s rakes his fingernails gently over her exposed neck, still arched like a bridge to his chest. His fingertips scrub sensation into the base of her scalp and Rey exhales, unselfconscious that it’s nearly a moan of pleasure. He nuzzles the top of her head, both hands now cradling her neck. Rey shifts so both her hands are on his chest, curling her fingertips to hook into the sweater. There’s a tension invisibly growing between them; she can almost feel it buzzing in the air. 

In the dark silence of the apartment, Rey hears more than feels Ben press a kiss to her hair. Rey holds her breath, waiting for the next move. Ben pauses, then kisses again, then again, near her temple. When his soft lips finally touch the bare skin of the side of her face, Rey tilts her head back and her eyes flutter half-open. His eyes are closed and Rey loves the sight of his long black lashes. He leans in to kiss her cheekbone, plush lips lingering. One of his hands is curled into her hair. Rey slides her hands up to his neck. She scrapes her fingernails lightly along the cords in his throat and can literally feel that his breaths are coming faster now. His free hand slides south from her neck, pushing her flimsy t-shirt aside so he can caress her bare breastbone.

“Oh,” Rey breathes. Her cunt feels so tight, she stands up on her toes to lessen the pressure.

Ben exhales. He leans in, exquisitely full lips travelling down to the side of her jaw, then her neck. She feels his teeth scrape against her.

“Ben.” It catches in her throat, coming out like a groan. Rey grabs a fistful of his dark hair- so soft, impossibly soft- and tilts her head to give him better access, eyes shutting again. Their slow dance is tumbling into a faster tempo, and she’s ready for it. 

Ben’s hot breath pants against her neck, warm tongue darting out to taste her skin. He kisses her throat, then deepens the kiss to suck at her, strongly. Rey’s hand that isn’t in his hair slips down to his waistline and pushes beneath his sweater, running up onto the heated planes of his stomach. Ben makes a helpless noise against her throat, then bites her again. His crotch feels hot against hers, and she feels something hardening there. Rey pushes back. They still haven’t kissed on the mouth, and Rey suddenly feels she will die if they don’t. She tugs on her fistful of hair to pull him back within range. His eyes flutter open briefly, search her face. When their lips finally meet it’s as soft and juicy as fruit; sticky, plump, utterly delicious. Rey wants closer, warmer, deeper. She kisses him until they both pant over the same shared breath, until their mouths constitute one golden flow of heat. His tongue invades her mouth, invites hers back to play in his own. Their breaths are broken, stolen between kisses; it’s inconceivable that they were ever  _ not  _ kissing.

Rey holds Ben’s head still by the hair and stretches up further onto her toes to bite at his earlobe. She whispers his name in his ear and Ben drops one hand onto her ass to hold her crotch against his own. 

Rey pants into his ear. “Couch.”

Ben groans in assent and starts backing them up into the living room while Rey sucks at his ear, his neck. His hand not on her ass drags her shirt down in the front, exposing the swell of her breasts above her bra. Ben stumbles to a seat on the couch with Rey on top of him, and she spreads her legs to straddle his lap. The drop jerks blood to Rey’s head in a rush, and she pulls back long enough to gasp for breath. Her hands settle on his broad shoulders. Ben’s eyes are wide open now, fuzzy but bright, focused on her like there’s nothing else in the room. His face is pale in contrast to the red where she’s bitten him. Rey takes this all in for a moment before leaning in again. The spins are still swooping inside her, but it’s turned into delicious heat. She puts her nose next to his like they’re about to kiss, but just hovers instead, sharing a breath with him, trying to regain some internal equilibrium. Ben takes her face in his hands; it’s encouraging that he seems as stunned as she does, stroking her hair off of her cheek like it’ll center him. 

“This ok,” he whispers.

“Yes,” sighs Rey, briefly tilting away to press her cheek into his palm.

Then she turns back, takes his lower lip between her teeth and bites it gently, dragging it out. Again. Again, sucking it. They devolve into a messy, sticky-sweet kiss that seems to go on for glorious years.

Ben is sucking her tongue into his mouth, she’s drowning in his lips. When they finally break apart, Ben takes his attention further south, leaning down to bite at the top of Rey’s breasts, nudging aside her bra to free a nipple for his questing teeth. Rey keens at the pinching bite, spine stiffening. Her cunt is balanced right on the hot ridge of his cock, and she can’t help but wiggle a little. A moan falls out of her mouth. 

“That feels so good,” she murmurs into the dark air.

Ben lets go of her nipple with a wet pop. “Again,” he says thickly, encouraging and demanding at the same time.

Rey complies, rubbing back and forth, a sweaty heat building between her thighs. Ben reluctantly drags his lips away from Rey’s breasts and flops his head back bonelessly, panting at the sensation.

“Keep going,” Ben groans, so Rey rests her head on his shoulder and drags her crotch along his cock. Her pace increases and he murmurs nonsense into her ear, large fingers toying with her nipples to urge her along. Her breath becomes ragged and Ben lifts one hand to card in her hair, tug her head off of his shoulder.

“Here,” he pants, repositioning her forehead against his. His dark eyes are wide, searching. “I want to see-” He trails off, their shared breaths growing jagged.

Rey isn’t thinking coherently when a physical crackle of lightning spits through her body, seeming to move too fast- too fast! Rey cries out sharply in pleasure, stuttering over Ben’s lap. His hand clenches tightly in her hair, but the pain in her scalp blends beautifully with the fire in her belly. It ripples- once, twice, trembling her breath, then starts to fade away. Almost immediately, exhaustion seeps into her body, along with rueful regret. She finished so soon! Rey shamefully hides her red face in Ben’s shoulder again, pulling her cunt up and away from the suddenly daunting bulge in Ben’s jeans. Her passion is ebbing, but  _ he  _ certainly could keep going.

But he doesn’t seem mad. “Good girl,” he says softly, kissing her hot cheek, hand mussing her hair, “my good girl.” There’s a bit of awe in his voice. 

Rey turns her head to give him one messy kiss on the side of his mouth, then pulls away. The spins are back, circling her skull in lazy loops. She shakes her head dizzily.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Shhhh.”

Ben helps her dismount to one side, then stretches himself out along the couch. “Come here,” he says, eyes still frazzled and dick still hard, but seeming under control. Rey feels ashamed but relents and lays down on her back next to him, actual weariness blending with the orgasm fuzz. Ben circles one arm under her shoulders to hold her close, but his other hand strays down to her waist. He looks deeply into her eyes, pupils blown out.

“Can I?”

Rey blushes. “I don’t know if I can-”

“I’m not going to push you,” he promises.

“O-ok.” In that moment she trusts him. Why the hell not, at this point?

Ben deliberately opens the top button of her jeans and slowly slides his hand down, under the jeans, under her underwear, long fingers seeking her crotch. Rey is both dismayed and fiercely proud of how soaked she is. 

“Good girl,” Ben says again, sending delicious sparks through Rey’s body. He sounds proud. He sounds- well, like he wouldn’t mind doing more than this.

But he doesn’t try and initiate sex, as he promised. Instead, Ben reaches one finger down, and curls it deeply into Rey’s cunt. Rey inhales sharply and lifts her hips involuntarily. The flesh pulses like a sore bruise. 

“Shhh,” Ben soothes, kissing her once. His long hair tickles her bared collarbones. He gently swirls his finger inside of her, just enough to make Rey let out a moan, then brings out his finger again, glimmering wet with Rey’s sex. Rey blushes, embarrassment winning out.

She shouldn’t have worried; Ben waits until Rey meets his gaze again, then looks her in the eye as brings his wet finger up to his lips and sucks it into his mouth. She can tell he’s swirling his tongue on it, licking it up. Licking her up. Rey exhales, a shaky sigh. Her tired cunt pulses again.

Ben reaches back down and repeats the process. “I want to lick you clean,” he murmurs, “I can imagine those pretty pink lips, smelling like you…”

Rey knows she probably should be disgusted, but a larger part of her loves this. She spreads her legs wide for Ben and lets him taste her, listens to his stream of consciousness. Finally he brings up another wet finger and carefully, looking at Rey for any sign of dissent, traces his finger along her lips. Rey parts them slightly, and once he’s traced the curves Ben dips his finger in. Rey looks into his eyes and sucks him clean, tongue sliding over his fingertip. Ben lets out a shuddering sigh, then bends his head and kisses her, lingering to lick her lips.

“Nothing else tonight,” he murmurs. His cock still feels rigid at her side but his breathing is more under control. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Ok,” Rey says shyly. She snuggles back into his arms, trying nominally to keep her ass away from his crotch so that his boner can subside. The orgasm and the alcohol conspire to make her head rock even at rest; she feels like she’s in a boat as much as she’s in Ben’s arms. Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Ben lightly strokes her arm, reassuring, until her head settles and the tension eases out of her body. Rey finally drifts to sleep against him, and when she marks his last words- nothing else  _ tonight _ \- her cunt tingles with promise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the warm response to last chapter! There's so much great Reylo smut out in the world already that I feel a little self-conscious adding my own spin to it, but it's fun to write and I'm glad you've enjoyed it and the build-up. Hope you all enjoy this next chapter ;)

Rey wakes up the next morning with an awful headache and a funky taste in her mouth. She smacks her lips loudly, eyes still closed, scrunching her face up in distaste at both the dehydrated flavor and the vague recollection of drinking a lot last night. Everything is a little foggy, but her nose tells her reptile brain that she’s in Ben’s apartment.  _ Safe. _

Reluctant to get up, Rey starts turning to snuggle back into the couch. Except...today the couch is extremely solid, and smells musky, and has an arm around-

_ Oh my god oh my goddddd! _

Rey’s eyes snap open, breath catching in her throat. Ben is stretched out behind her, still knocked out. Ben  _ her manager _ , Ben who painted her  _ lips  _ with her-

Rey’s hand jerks up to her mouth involuntarily, and she blushes so hard it almost hurts. Ben's arm is draped familiarly across her waist. She can’t see Ben’s face in this position, but she can feel his warm breath stirring her hair, and she  _ definitely  _ can tell that his body is molded against hers. Rey frantically hopes that the denim of his jeans is just particularly stiff. She’s so rigid herself it’s a wonder that Ben hasn’t woken up in confusion yet.

He’d have to be confused, right? The situation looks bad in recap, as it floods back to Rey’s mind. His employee showed up wasted on her night off for no reason but to crash on his couch. And to get herself off on his cock. Rey groans internally; she hadn’t even been a  _ good  _ hookup, they’d only…

Well, they’d actually done pretty little, in the grand scheme of things. It just  _ felt  _ like a lot. Rey’s had standard hookups in the past where she’d gone further than last night and probably been drunker, but the memory of last night feels momentous somehow. Rey forces her body to relax, interest overtaking her initial shock. She shyly lets herself remember their hug, the sound of Ben’s kiss in her hair; that kiss alone feels like a physical echo up her spine. It had all built up like some kind of beautiful avalanche, fuzzy but fixed in particular moments- when he touched her  _ there _ , or she made _ that _ sound. Her fingers pulse with heat where they remember touching his abs; that was too brief, she should have taken his shirt off. She should have licked a trail over his chest. They should have…

Rey’s fingers clench, and she sucks in a breath, willing her jumbled nerves to calm down. Focus on in...and out...in...and out… Without meaning to, she matches her breathing to Ben’s.

_ His face, pale and focused in the dark, eyes utterly human: “This ok?” _

It had been sort of...nice.

_ And let’s not forget about that orgasm,  _ Rey thinks. Heat fizzles between her legs, both in memory and anticipation. Rey hasn’t hooked up with anyone in over a year, so it’s hard  _ not  _ to linger on such a pleasurable memory.

A little steadier, Rey cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at Ben’s sleeping face. His closed eyes bring back the snapshot memory of his face as he leaned down to kiss her neck. Same dark lashes. She hasn’t had many opportunities to look at Ben up close. In the light of the morning she can appreciate how many lines etch his face, how deep his dark circles are, but there’s still something unusually peaceful about his face at rest. It’s  _ present _ , she realizes. He even looks a little happy.

Rey could have gazed at his face for a while longer, but nature’s call starts ringing insistently.  _ That’s the 6th drink _ , she thinks ruefully, trying to sneak out of Ben’s embrace. It almost works, too. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch laying his arm back against his chest when he wakes up; his hand sleepily circles her wrist as she tries to draw away. Ben’s eyes flutter open and he looks at her softly at first, a slight smile curving his lips. Rey’s heart melts for that moment...and then his gaze sharpens and the smile vanishes. She can almost see the memory hit him fully. Ben looks guarded again, and his grip squeezes painfully around her wrist.

“Ah,” she gasps, “can I have that back?”

Startled, Ben looks down at where he’s holding her and lets go.

“Sorry,” he mutters. He looks away from her, turns onto his back. Brings both hands up to cover his face, movement twitchy. Rey tries to shove her growing dismay deep into her gut, tries to forget what it felt like to tangle her hands in the rumpled hair spilling around his face. Ben says nothing, but from the slow way he massages his temples and keeps his face hidden from her, she gets the distinct impression that he’s as embarrassed as she is. 

“Do you- do you need an aspirin?” Rey attempts a weak smile, forcing her voice to stay casual. “I don’t know about you but my head is pounding.”

Ben shifts one hand to glance back at her, nods tightly. The poor man probably just wants her gone so he can readjust his morning wood. Stiff jeans indeed.

Rey stands and looks around the apartment, which, of course, isn’t actually hers.  _ Does he even have aspirin?  _ she wonders as she pads down the hallway to the bathroom. She’s still wearing her shirt and jeans from last night, though the jeans are still unbuttoned. Her headache cramps at her temples, and her crotch feels a little sore as she walks, unused to housing such large fingers.

_ This is fine, we’re fine,  _ she thinks desperately, closing the bathroom door behind her. She has the most satisfyingly long pee in recent memory, but Rey is using that time to try and A) reboot her brain and B) figure out how to handle Ben. Embarrassment can morph into a lot of different emotions, most of them negative.  _ Her  _ embarrassment is simmering lightly under her skin, but at least she can haltingly admit to herself that she had wanted what happened. She’s just not sure about him. 

Rey gets up, drinks some handfuls of water from the bathroom sink. She pauses, hands still cupped to her mouth, to look back at herself in the mirror: her hair is loose and tangled, her eye-liner smudged to a smokey blur. Rey sighs and finger combs her hair, then grabs Ben’s toothbrush thoughtlessly and starts brushing her teeth with it. Her morning breath requires actual bristles today, and anyway, if Ben has any germs she already caught them last night with her tongue halfway down his throat. 

Slightly refreshed, Rey grabs a bottle from the medicine cabinet and leaves the bathroom. 

Ben is sitting upright on the couch when she gets back, a huge glass of water in one hand. He’s finally pulled off last night’s sweater and is down to a black tee, which only makes him look whiter in his hungover state. He’s got an elbow up on the armrest, the other hand over his face. Looking at him sitting there so slumped and pale, Rey wonders how she ever thought he looked young.

“Miracle drug,” says Rey, shaking the little pill bottle to get his attention. “You only had tylenol but I think it’ll work fine.”

Ben grunts, looking up at her with an expression she can’t quite parse. His usual indifferent mask has splintered into many emotions: annoyed, despondent, bitter, longing, something...else when she idly scratches her stomach and exposes the soft skin and her unzipped fly.

Rey drops her hand quickly and unscrews the cap of the pill bottle, shaking out 1, 2, 3 capsules for good measure. 

“Can I have a sip of your water?” she asks with slightly more confidence than she feels, which is none at all.

Ben nods, hesitates, then pats the couch next to him. The subtle command does something gooey to Rey’s insides, and she takes a second to collect herself before gingerly seating herself next to him. His tension radiates off of his body like a space heater, but at least he doesn’t increase the physical distance between them.

“Thanks.” She takes the water from his hand, only briefly brushing his fingers. His finger...she has a sudden sober appreciation of how deep his pointer had gone inside of her. 

_ Focus, Rey! _

Rey practically gulps down her pills with Ben looking on. She takes a long drag of the water, swishing it around her mouth before swallowing. She’s exhaling with relief when his fingers lightly brush her throat. Rey nearly jumps, but settles for clutching the water glass and turning wide eyes towards him. Ben is engrossed with her neck, with the dark bruises he’s left.

“Show me,” he says quietly, and here is another knife edge for them to walk. Even though she’s sober again, Rey feels the same slow-honey quality to time as last night when she tilts her head back to let him see how he’s marked her.

His fingers slide down the channel of her throat and her eyes can’t help but close. “These are dark,” he says in a low voice, “you’ll have to hide them.” There’s no apology in his tone, just a faint trace of bitterness that may be self-recrimination. 

Rey opens her mouth to reply, but her breath catches as his fingers trace lower. She thinks of his hard cock, how worked up he’d been last night without release. Her cunt remembers how good last night felt, and her heart wants more. But, in the light of day…

“I shouldn’t have invited you to the bar,” grates Ben, fingers dropping away. Rey opens her eyes, fearing what else he regrets. Ben is looking down at the floor, brow furrowed. “The other franchise owners might talk.” The menace of Snoke floats between the two of them like a waft of burnt garbage. Rey doesn’t want that stink here, not in her safe space on the couch.

She extends the water glass back to Ben, an offering. “I’m glad you did,” she says, low, fierce. Ben drags his eyes back to meet hers. He reaches for the glass and takes it, but his gaze doesn’t move. He looks...wary. But he isn’t telling her to leave. And Rey doesn’t want to go.

“I’ll make up a story at work,” she manages. Ben tilts his head slightly in confusion. “About the bruises,” Rey clarifies. She continues carefully, feeling breathless. “I guess you’ll know the real story.”

Ben’s gaze sharpens. “And what is the real story?”

Rey swallows hard. There isn’t enough water in that glass to dry her mouth. There isn’t enough water, or liquor, in the world to relieve her as she makes her decision.

“You made me cum,” says Rey softly. “On your couch.” Both of their breaths catch. Rey struggles on “And...I liked it.”

A dozen emotions seem to pass through Ben’s dark eyes, but he doesn’t move away.

“Can I show you what I’d like?” asks Ben; the words are just as soft as hers, but seem torn from his chest. It isn’t really a question; his deft fingers are already back up to Rey’s lips, where they trace the curves like last night’s ghost. Rey opens her lips wider in response and Ben boldly slides two fingers in, over her tongue and almost into her throat. He watches his own hand, entranced, as Rey runs her tongue up to meet his digits, making them slick.

“You,” he says, some of last night’s awe gentling his voice. Rey closes her mouth around the fingers, imagining something else of his between her lips. Need surges up through her body, and Rey pulls back, freeing her mouth.

“Will you-” Rey wrestles on the edge of propriety, then succumbs. “Will you fuck my mouth? I can lie on the couch.”

Ben actually groans. He puts the water glass down on the floor, somehow not spilling it in his haste to get it out of the way. He turns back to her and pauses, halting himself with visible effort.

“I’m your manager, Rey,” he says half in lust, half in helplessness. “What does that mean?”

“It means I need directions,” says Rey, feeling giddy.

Ben swears and palms himself. His cock has already grown, still unsettled from last night, and in the light of day it’s evident just how much he’s packing down there. Indecision trembles in Ben’s expression for another half-second, then it’s gone, washed away by open hunger. 

“Face. Down,” Ben growls.

Rey starts to bend her head, and Ben pulls her down the rest of the way to his lap. Her face pushes up against his crotch, against the stiff but slightly pliant cock that has sprouted up in his jeans. She starts to reach up towards his zipper, but Ben takes her by the wrist.

“No,” he says, “start through the jeans.” He sits back on the couch, gaze intense. “Make me feel it.”

Satisfaction burns through Rey as she starts to nuzzle the bulge in his pants, starts to smell something heady and dank through the fabric. She’s always had a thing for giving oral. Her tongue laps at the rounded head of his cock, running thickly over the black jeans. Ben keeps up a low and focused stream of praise, his fingers twisted through her hair. Rey closes her eyes and mouths him as best she can, steadily soaking the area. His cock jumps and strains, clearly primed, as she runs back and forth. She thinks she tastes a hint of salt.

“Can I now?” she asks prettily, panting a little.

“Yes,” he grits out. “You can get on your back.” 

Ben slides out from under her and Rey rolls over obediently onto her back, her body stretching down the length of the couch. Ben stands looking down at her, hesitation melting away to lust. “Head on the armrest,” he says, starting to unbutton his jeans.

Rey complies. Even with her head elevated, she’s still below his cock when it pops out from his jeans, and it’s almost shocking to see the whole length leap up. Her eyes train onto it, taking it all in. The veins that run along his shaft are dark and prominent, the head glinting dimly with precum and perhaps her spit; it’s thick enough that her jaw pulses with a phantom ache just looking at it. Ben is watching her face carefully, squeezing his cock at the base.

“What do you want,” he asks. His voice is low.

“Your cock in my mouth.”

“It won’t fit in your mouth,” he says, still low but almost chiding, “it’s got to go further.”

“Put your cock in my throat,” whispers Rey, one hand drifting down to her crotch. It feels tight and dangerous down there, the lips swelling shut.

“Can you wait for me, Rey?” Ben’s noticed her hand. “I want to cum first, in your throat. You’re going to swallow it all.” It’s not a question.

His hand is moving slowly now along his shaft, shifting the skin up and down. 

“That’s not fair,” protests Rey weakly. Her hand keeps going, sliding past her already-unbuttoned jeans and into her underwear.

Ben’s hand speeds up. “Clit only,” he concedes. “But you have to show me.”

Rey pulls her hand back out to pull her pants down; she’s faintly glad that she shaved her legs last night. Her jeans get stuck around her ankles for a moment. Her underwear isn’t particularly sexy, but she thinks she could wear period panties and Ben would still look at her this way. Like he wants to eat her cunt raw.

“All of it off,” Ben says, voice shaking a little.

Rey pulls down her underwear, too, resting her bare ass back onto his couch. She spreads her legs a little, then rushes her fingers back down to circle her clit.

“Good,’ Ben moans, “but not too fast.” 

“Like this?” Rey breathes, first two fingers moving quickly on her clit, then shifting down to slide along her entrance. She’s already moist along the edges, wet and slick.

“Yes,” he pants, fist pumping his shaft.

“Tell me it’s good,” Rey insists

“You’re so good for me,” he says soothingly, “so good I’m going to fuck your throat. Just like you asked.”

Ben gives his cock one last lingering stroke, then unselfconsciously pulls his pants and underwear completely off. His bared lower half is all solid lines of muscles, dark hair finely spread. He steps to the couch and straddles Rey’s face, one knee bent on the couch and the other foot grounded on the floor. He keeps a guiding hand on his cock, directing it so its head leans against Rey’s lips. The blunt heat of it somehow induces Rey’s previously dry mouth to water. Rey still has one hand working between her legs, but she lifts the other hand to Ben’s bare thigh. The muscles twitch under her fingers; Ben is looking down at her and even through his desire she can still clearly see wariness, him wondering if she’s going to tap out.

Rey doesn’t tap out.

Rey reaches up and touches his cock instead, running her fingers along the warmth of his shaft. Above her, Ben exhales deeply and bows his head, reaching out with his free hand to grip the back of the couch. Encouraged, Rey’s fingers close around him and pull downwards, shifting the flesh in a satisfying tug. She can feel Ben’s thighs tense around her head, but he says nothing, lets her explore at her own pace. She traces the veins with her fingertips, gently dips down to brush the taut sack of his balls- she can hear his breath catch. Finally, Rey cranes her head upwards enough that her tongue, pink and tentative, reaches the head of his cock. Stiffened to a point, her tongue circles his slit, then flattens, lapping at the dewy pre-cum.

“Rey.”

Ben moans her name. He lets go of his cock to reach down and messily hold her cheek, smearing long fingers down and curling at her jaw. She feels his hand tremble, and knows then and there that this is right, that he feels it too.

She looks up at his hazy eyes and opens her mouth to take him in.

With a groan, Ben pushes forward, slotting his cock into her mouth like it’s meant to be there, like she was made for him. Rey hollows her cheeks and pulls her teeth up as far as she can, creating a perfect tunnel for his thickness, something warm and wet and enveloping. Ben lets out his breath in an airy exhale, sliding his cock along her tongue. His first couple of strokes are restrained, letting Rey adjust to his size, but either she’s a fast learner or he’s losing control, because he quickly speeds up. Ben’s cock churns in and out past her lips, slick and hot. A burning pleasure rises in Rey’s chest, and she lets herself settle and just...take it. Ben’s pace soon spirals into something vicious; he holds both sides of her face to keep her in place and pumps like an automaton, the long strands of his hair falling down and covering all but his full lips, parted and panting.

“Such a good girl,” he says low and fast, “taking my cock, taking it all.”

Rey moans in her throat and tilts her head further back, allowing his cock to push down into her throat. Ben stutters and holds himself fast, deep inside her. She can smell the warm tang of his thighs, they’re that close. His hands clutch the sides of her head and Rey’s nostrils flare, snatching air. Then he jerks back, entirely freeing her mouth and Rey gasps in a breath, heat flooding her cheeks and swelling in her crotch.

“Deeper,” Ben urges, and he pushes back in, even farther. Holds. Rey looks up at him, tears automatically forming at the corners of her eyes. Her nostrils suck air, nearly tickled by the fine hair on his thighs. His hands rake through her hair, and Rey somewhere deep down thinks he’s making it into a bird’s nest. Then he pulls out again and she’s gasping for air, spit covering her lips.

“Touch yourself,” Ben growls. Rey’s hand startles where it’s been lying, forgotten, between her legs. She starts rubbing at her clit quickly to make up for lost time and immediately feels a warm wave rising. Ben pulls his dick out of her mouth for a moment, letting her regain her breath. He takes himself in one hand and traces the head along her parted lips, smears it sideways so the spit mars her cherry-red cheek. Rey moans, darts her tongue out to lap at it again, but he eludes her.

“We’ll finish together,” he murmurs, stroking himself recklessly. He reaches back behind himself, leaning slightly, and Rey feels his long fingers touch hers briefly, then move past to dip down to her cunt. He slides along the moist curls of her lower lips, then dips a finger in, not going for depth at this angle but teasing her, sending sparks through her system.

“Ben,” Rey groans. She arches beneath him, ribs rising to butt up against him. Ben’s strokes intensify.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he demands.

“I think-I-ah-“

“Open,” he commands, and Rey spreads her legs and opens her mouth, not sure which he meant but deliriously ready to please. Anything to keep his fingers probing.

Ben pushes forward again, sliding the shaft of his cock along her tongue, down into her throat.

“You’re going to swallow it,” he says, letting go of himself to messily brush her hair off her forehead. He grabs a handful, holding her close.

Rey makes a noise in her throat in assent, and maybe the tightening of her vocal cords is what does it, but after only a few shallow pumps- he’s already so far in- Ben’s hips stutter and he automatically pushes-in-in-deeper- Rey can’t breathe- his fingers hook into her cunt and Rey sends herself over the edge in a breathless explosion of white. Even as her body shudders, arching helplessly up from the couch, she feels a wet splash in her throat and wriggles her head back on the armrest to hold the bulk of his cum in her mouth instead. It fills her cheeks, blood-warm and salty. Ben is moaning above her. He lets go of her hair to grab himself again, trails his cock out across her lips, dragging cum. Rey swallows thickly and gasps for breath, the air coming in raw. Ben lets go of his cock and bends heavily to the side so he can lean his head against the back of the couch. For a long time the only sound is the two of them panting.

Finally, the cum already tacky on her cheek, Rey spills her head to the side of the armrest and kisses the top of Ben’s thigh. His cock, red, wet, and pulsing, twitches lightly. Ben grunts and slowly swings his head away from the couch back, pulling his other hand back from Rey’s crotch to scrape the hair away from his face. His normally pale face is flushed red, lips shining like plump apple slices. He looks down at Rey like he’s not quite sure how they both got here.

Rey strokes his leg, where it cages her head.

“Can I get up?” she asks, a slight smile turning her lips.

Ben nods dumbly and, seemingly with great effort, hauls himself off of the couch to stand beside it. He looks around himself, spots the nearby armchair, and takes a few steps towards it before falling heavily into it. He sighs and leans his head back, closing his eyes.

Rey rolls over into her side, feeling slightly chilly without the weight of him hanging above her. Pantsless on his couch, she watches her manager, sliding her thighs absentmindedly over each other. She idly licks her salty lips, watching Ben’s cock ebb and settle in his lap.

Eventually Ben notices the silence and cracks an eye open, bonelessly tilting his head to the side to look at her. He pats his thigh heavily, twice.

Rey gathers herself together and rises off the couch. Her t-shirt drapes down to barely cover herself, and on bare feet she pads over to Ben. Rey gingerly sits on his lap and pulls her legs onto the chair, wordlessly letting his arms wrap around her. She leans against his shoulder. His eyes close again and he rests his head on top of her hair. The apartment is warm and quiet except for their breathing.

_ Safe. Home. _

“Rey,” Ben says finally, a faint sigh. “What am I going to do with you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gatorade, school, and sleepovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers, it's been a little while! I wrote some stuff this past week that I'm incredibly proud of and excited to share...but it's all for a future chapter. So basically I finished writing *that* chapter, and then had to figure out what the heck I wanted to do about *this* chapter. But I'm happy with how this one came out! It's a longer one, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you as always for the comments, kudos, shares, and encouragement, I'm so appreciative that you all take the time to read my work <3

Rey leans her temple against the cool metal of a subway pole, watching darkness fly past the window as the train accelerates to the next stop. She feels strangely unglued, like she could pass right through the doors of the train without them opening. Her hangover, tamped down by tylenol, still fizzles at her temples. She takes a huge bite of her bacon egg and cheese bagel, chewing and staring forward.

To the casual observer, Rey has clearly not been home yet from a night out. Her makeup is still smudged around her eyes and her hair is rumpled. Her skin is pale against the black of her outfit, pale enough that the dark bites on her neck stick out like a sore thumb. Most people boarding the train give her a second glance, or three, because her face also has a slightly flushed, dreamy expression. Looks like it was a good night out, those people decide.

_ Tempting as it is, they don’t stay in the armchair forever. They separate reluctantly, Rey sliding off of Ben’s lap to let him come to a stand. He snags his boxer briefs off the floor and pulls them on, then heads down the hall towards the bathroom. Rey stays standing in the living room looking around with new eyes, feeling vaguely like she’s stepped through a wormhole into some alternate reality. It’s the same blank, gray walls, same black and gray furniture, same room she’s slept in dozens of times. Just two completely different people inside of it. _

_ By the time Ben returns, Rey has pulled her jeans back on and is finally finishing up that glass of water. Ben stops walking and just looks at her, eyes trailing over her face and figure. His expression is more guarded by miles than it was on the couch, but she can still easily read faint disbelief, maybe even a satisfaction that mirrors her own. Rey breaks their mutual stare by quirking an eyebrow back at him; it’s hard to be embarrassed by a long look when you’ve just had a dick down your throat. _

_ Ben walks over to her, slowly reaching up with both hands to comb his fingers through her hair. Smoothing it back down is going to be impossible, she just knows it. _

_ “You’re feeling ok?” His rumbling voice is rougher than normal. _

_ “Mhm.” Rey closes her eyes, enjoying his touch. _

_ He holds the strands back a little, away from her face, leans down and kisses her forehead at the hairline. _

_ “Are you hungry?”  _

_ “Mm, I dunno. I did just eat.” _

_ Ben blows a huff of air out his nose, half a laugh; Rey opens her eyes and is gratified to catch him blushing. _

By the time Rey gets to her stop, all she wants in the world is to lay on her bed and sleep for days; she didn’t get much in the way of quality or quantity rest last night. She plods up the warm brown steps of her stoop, reaching for her keys and sending up a vague prayer of thanks that they’re still in her pocket. Once inside, she’s bombarded with the amplified screech of tires squealing. She stifles a groan; the younglings- what she and Finn secretly call their other roommates- are playing a video game in the living room. 

“Oh, hey Rey!” One of them pops their head up to give her a quick wave.

“Hey,” Rey says, giving a weary wave in return. The younglings aren’t  _ that  _ bad in small doses, and they do tend to tread lightly around her. Wisely, they make no comment on her disheveled appearance.

Rey walks past the blaring TV, entering the hall to her room. Once she’s at her door she pauses, hand on the doorknob. Decides to keep walking past, down to Finn’s bedroom. She gives his door a cautious knock.

Finn’s muffled voice floats through the wood: “Unless you have Gatorade, go away.”

Rey smiles.

_ Ben pulls out a drink from the fridge next to them, and Rey is not impressed. _

_ “The yellow one?” she asks in disgust. _

_ “It’s refreshing,” Ben says, looking at her like she’s crazy. _

_ “If you like battery acid.” Rey wrinkles her nose, holding her red and blue Gatorade bottles close to her chest. _

_ They’re standing in line at the bagel place, waiting in a queue of similarly rumpled looking individuals. Ben and Rey have a habit from First Order of not standing too close to each other in public, and they’re not breaking that habit now; still, Ben’s body  _ feels  _ closer to hers, either from actual physical distance or because she knows it much more intimately now than she did 24 hours ago. Picking out drinks with him is so mundane, yet part of Rey is internally screaming at the people around her: Look! This guy is my manager! We just hooked up right above the place where we work! An equally overexcited part of her brain keeps firing up vivid sexual memories at inopportune moments. Usually when she’s looking at Ben. Which is often, because she can’t fucking believe that they’ve done the things they’ve done and are now acting completely normal. Looking at him is the equivalent of pinching herself. _

_ “Give me those,” he says, reaching for her bottles, “I’m paying.” _

_ “No way,” Rey insists, clutching her drinks close. “This place takes EBT, I can actually treat you for once.” _

_ Ben cocks his head, dropping his hand. “What’s EBT?” _

_ “Food stamps,” Rey explains, internally sinking a little but pushing through the awkwardness. She’s always been a practical person, and she’s not going to let a little social stigma hold her back from using a benefit she needs. Besides, she really does owe Ben for all the takeout they’ve eaten together. And for his eggs and cheese. _

_ Ben looks like he wants to push back, but he takes note of Rey’s lifted chin and thinks better of it.  _

_ “I’m getting two bagels.” he says finally. _

_ Rey smiles up at him, relieved. “No problem. You’re a growing boy.” _

“Ask and ye shall receive.”

Rey swings the door open and Finn looks up, groggy and shirtless, from where he’s laying on his bed. Rey had thought  _ she  _ looked bad, but Finn seems like he’s spent quality time hugging the toilet. His wan face lights up when she pulls the blue Gatorade out of her plastic bag.

“My angel,” he croons, propping himself up. Finn keeps his room weirdly neat, everything in its own place with almost military precision. Rey easily walks across the spotless floor and sits down next to him on the equally neat bed.

“Shouldn’t your  _ actual  _ angel have bought you a drink?” She asks pointedly, watching her friend as he takes a swig. “You know, short, suave, and handsome?”

Finn downs about a quarter of the Gatorade. “He’s not that short,” he says finally, stopping to wipe his mouth. “And he did. But he got the yellow kind.”

They both shudder.

_ Ben watches with interest while Rey pulls out her EBT card to pay the cashier. It looks perfectly normal, like any other credit card; Rey just swipes and plugs in her pin number. _

_ “They used to make people count out actual paper stamps,” she tells him. “Imagine everyone behind you in line getting pissy from waiting. Kind of like it is with coupons now, I guess.” _

_ Ben is listening but doesn’t say anything, and Rey wonders briefly what his relationship with money is like. He owns the whole First Order building, so obviously he has means- a mere one-bedroom apartment goes for a million bucks in New York City- but he doesn’t dress or act particularly wealthy. In fact, Rey wonders for the first time  _ why  _ Ben works as a manager at a fast food joint. Does he like the work? Did he inherit the business, like the building, from his family? _

_ Maybe she’ll never know; Ben Solo is a pile of questions wrapped in black clothes and muscle. He’s also holding their bag of supplies: one yellow Gatorade (his), one blue, one red (Rey’s), one bacon egg and cheese on pumpernickel (Rey’s), one cinnamon raisin with cream cheese (his), one sausage egg and cheese on an everything bagel (also his). _

_ “You always do savory and sweet?” Rey asks. The bell rings as they exit the shop. _

_ Ben shrugs. “I can’t make up my mind.” _

“So...Poe, huh?” asks Rey, scootching herself back on Finn’s bed until her back is against the wall. She pulls out her red Gatorade.

“Yeah,” says Finn, a warm smile stretching his lips. He looks at Rey, a quiet happiness radiating from him even through the hangover pallor. 

“Were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you!” Finn says, “and I wanted your honest opinion.” Warming to his theme, Finn anxiously adds: “Did you like him? Do you think his hair’s dumb?”

Rey laughs. “His hair is great, Finn. So is he, at least from my first impression. He seems like he really likes you.”

Finn grins down at the bottle in his hand. “Ok, good,” he says. “I was worried you would hate him and I’d have to dramatically choose between you two.” 

Rey raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Obviously I would choose you,” Finn hastens to add.

Rey grins and takes a swig of her drink. Finn shifts towards her on the bed.

“What the-”

Rey makes a muffled noise of protest as Finn pushes her bottle higher up so that she in turn has to raise her chin even higher. His eyes are wide, scanning her bruised neck. “Ex _ cuse  _ me?” he says, “Did you find a heterosexual Poe last night? Was he a vampire?”

Rey swallows the last of her drink, then slides her bottle out of Finn’s grasp and lowers her head, blushing almost as red as the Gatorade. “No and no,” she says.

Finn cocks his head with interest. “Then did you and Jess…?”

Rey blushes harder. “Definitely not.” She grins sheepishly. “She’s way out of my league.”

“Uh-huh. So who  _ did  _ give you these?” 

Rey hides her face behind her bottle, peeks out playfully at Finn. “I may have slept on my manager’s couch last night. With my manager.”

_ They walk to Brower Park from the bagel shop, talking carefully about the places and people they’re passing- nothing that could set off a deeper conversation about the events of last night and this morning. Rey certainly isn’t ready to talk about it yet, and clearly neither is he. Instead, they find an empty bench and sit down to eat. They don’t hold hands or cuddle on the bench, they just...are. Rey appreciates the overnight stubble on Ben’s normally clean-shaven cheeks. She catches him watching her when she comes out of a particularly luxurious stretch.  _

_ Kids are joyfully shrieking at one another on the nearby playground, and Rey sees Ben wince. _

_ “Oh yeah,” she says sympathetically, “You never did get that tylenol. Not a kid person?” _

_ “No,” he says automatically. “And especially not this morning.” _

_ Rey scans the playground. “I hope none of them are mine.” _

_ Ben’s head whips around. “What?” _

_ Rey looks at him, surprised. Then her face flushes with understanding. “My students!” she says quickly. “Most of them live in this neighborhood. I don’t really need them to see me like...well...this.” _

_ “Right. Sorry.” _

_ “It’s ok, I’m a little groggy too.” As if on cue, Rey yawns again. “I should probably head back to Manhattan soon.” The kids are an unwelcome reminder that she’s teaching tomorrow. _

_ Ben looks down at his bagel. He’s already eaten the sweet one, now he just has the everything left. _

_ “Where do you live, in Manhattan?” _

_ “Up in Washington Heights,” says Rey. She tries not to think about how bad the trains are going to be on the ride home. Or how nice it would be to stay at Ben’s again. _

_ “That’s far,” he says simply. _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ It’s quiet except for the screeching of children for a few breaths. Not that Rey’s counting. _

_ Ben is still staring at his bagel.  _

_ “You’re working Tuesday night,” he rumbles. “On the schedule.” _

_ “Ah, ok.” _

_ Looking at his profile, she can see Ben’s jaw twitch, like he’s chewing on something. Rey silently wills him to speak, to say  _ some _ thing that tips his hand. _

_ Maybe it works. He sighs and sits back, looks at her frankly. “We’ll have to keep things normal at First Order.” _

_ “Yeah. I would have anyway, even if-” Rey cuts herself off, biting her lip. _ Even if this were a one-time thing,  _ she finishes mentally. She dearly hopes that it isn’t; she hasn’t even seen him fully naked yet. Rey keeps that particular line of thought to herself, though, and leaves Ben hanging. _

_ He reaches out and touches her cheek, seeming to come to a decision. “I liked it too,” he says somberly, brown eyes flicking back and forth between hers. “Last night, and this morning.” _

_ Rey smiles and leans her face into his fingers a little. “Oh...good. Me too.” _

_ Ben swallows, glances at the public space around them. For a moment Rey thinks- hopes- that he’s going to kiss her...but apparently some habits are too hard to break. His thumb strokes her lower lip, and then he drops his hand quickly. _

_ “I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he says. His eyes say a lot more. _

_ “See you then,” she replies, a promise. _

Finn shakes his head when Rey finishes.

“This is such a bad idea,” he says, almost in awe.

Rey scrunches her nose. “You think so?”

Finn nods emphatically. “ _ Yes. _ ” Then he sighs, noting the dreamy look in her eyes. “But that probably won’t stop you, so just keep me posted.” He flops back down onto his back and buries his face in his pillow.

“And I thought  _ I  _ had the best surprise,” he mumbles.

\---

Monday morning at school passes by in a blur. Rey sinks into her teaching persona like a warm bubble bath, letting the needs of her tiny students usurp her personal desires. In contrast to her emotional turmoil- and to mask the more obvious signs of Saturday night- Rey has her hair pulled back in a tidy bun, foundation artfully applied, and a sleek sleeveless turtleneck masking her throat. She wears a long flowing skirt and boots with a heel; the heels are an obvious power move, but Rey wants to feel above everything right now.

She has to, because she has a goddamned observation today.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Rey swears, pacing the single-stall teacher’s bathroom. She glances at herself in the mirror, hates what she sees, stops to comb back a single stray hair. She should have  _ remembered  _ that secondary observations were happening this week. 

Principal Holdo had stopped by the Caterpillars classroom during their prep period around noon. “Knock knock,” the woman said brightly. Phasma and Rey had immediately looked up from their respective lunches; Holdo is mostly beloved by her staff but a bit of a mismatched person, sometimes cheerful, sometimes crisply militant. Somehow her brightly dyed purple hair suits either occasion. 

“I’ll be coming to class during Story Problems,” Holdo said. She pointed at Rey. “It’s your secondary observation.” Then she smiled sweetly. “Good luck!”

Holdo had disappeared as quickly as she came. Phasma immediately started scrolling through her phone again, unperturbed. “Go get ‘em tiger,” she said dryly.

Rey has been the same ashen color since then.

“You’ve got this,” she says to her wan reflection. She  _ has  _ to. Rey really likes this school, and if they like her enough they may hire her on as full time staff once her AmeriCorps year is over in June. She’d still have to get certified, of course, which involves a whole mess of requirements, but the school would probably be flexible as long as she could prove she’s on track to be certified. Not that  _ that _ will be easy, since she has no way to pay for the program or the  _ college degree _ that’s required.

Rey closes her eyes and blows her breath slowly out, trying to calm herself down. Her thoughts stop racing and eventually slow to a stop on one particular memory. Maybe it’s silly, but she thinks about her and Ben in his armchair on Sunday morning, how peaceful they were. In the present, alone in the bathroom, she matches her breathing to that memory.

_ One thing at a time, Rey,  _ she tells herself. 

Then the bell rings, and it’s time to pick up her students from P.E.. She leads them back into the classroom and Holdo is already there, sitting against the back shelf with a pen, a notepad, and an encouraging smile. Phasma sits at the back table looking bored. Rey takes a deep breath.

“Ok Caterpillars, take out your Story Problem folders…”

\--- 

Tuesday night can’t come quickly enough. Rey’s had the compulsion since Sunday night to text Ben, or call him, but she can’t think of anything to say. That is, she can think of plenty to say, but she’s not sure if he’d care to hear it.

_ I think my observation went well today! _

_ I couldn’t decide between sweet or savory for dinner, am I turning into you? _

_ Do you think your dick can even fit into my vagina? I tried to imagine it last night before bed… _

No, she’s really not sure what he wants to hear.

Rey practically rushes into First Order for the start of her night shift, but her manager fails to appear. He doesn’t show up for the first couple of hours, actually. Rey tries to act casually, joking with Connix and Mitaka, telling herself that he’s probably out sick (ha!). Her fingers are itching to knock on his closed office door, but she makes a mental pact with herself that  _ she won’t break first.  _

Finally, a few hours into her shift, she’s assembling a biscuit and hears Ben’s voice rumble behind her.

“Who prepped the slaw tonight?” he demands.

Rey shoots a glance over her shoulder and sees him, standing there in his usual black ensemble, a threatening mountain of man. The question is clearly meant for her, Connix, and Mitaka, but Ben isn’t looking at her. His gaze narrows instead on Mitaka, who has a sinking expression on his face.

“I did,” says her unfortunate co-worker.

“Did you cut it with a hammer?” Ben’s words drip ice. “It’s all pulped to shit.”

Connix turns swiftly away to take the next customer’s order, an artificial grin hiked up onto her face. Maybe not so artificial; she’s been spared Ben’s wrath. Rey looks quickly down at the biscuit in her hands and finishes wrapping it.

“Rey.”

She jumps a little. Rey turns and sees Ben still glaring at Mitaka. Without dropping his gaze, he points a finger at her.

“Since you have the hands of a human being and not a  _ goddamned ape _ , you will prep a new batch of slaw. Mitaka, you run both of these stations while she’s gone.”

Mitaka feebly protests: “But-”

Ben takes a step forward. One step, silently, but it speaks volumes. Mitaka’s voice subsides. Ben snaps his head to stare hawkishly at the back of the cashier’s head.

“Anything you want to fuck up while I’m gone, Connix?”

“No sir!” she says cheerfully.

“Good.” Ben starts back down the corridor, still not looking at Rey. Taken aback, she follows.

Walking past Ben and into the kitchen, Rey sees the offending containers of coleslaw sitting out on the stainless steel countertop. To be fair, the knife work  _ is  _ pretty badly done. Still...

“I don’t know if I’d say an  _ ape  _ had done this,” Rey says, looking disapprovingly at Ben. He hasn’t fully entered the kitchen, choosing to stand by the hallway instead with his arms crossed over his chest. Rey sees the lines of muscle in his forearms, and per usual it hits her a certain way, but  _ not  _ per usual she can remember what those arms feel like around her body. She swallows and tilts her head up, meeting his eyes.

Ben is looking her over; maybe he’s thinking similar things about the faint bruises at her neckline. He takes a couple of steps closer to her, lowering his voice.

“This is me being normal,” he says, as if it’s perfectly logical.

“I suppose,” Rey replies doubtfully. “Should I do a terrible job so you can yell at me too?”

“Maybe.” Ben’s lips curl slightly at the corners. Then straighten again as his face grows more serious. “Do you want to do-” he hesitates “-our normal arrangement?”

Rey nods quickly, then bites her lip when she catches her own eagerness. “Yes! I mean, yes, definitely.”

“Alright,” Ben says, also a little quickly. He gives her one last lingering glance. “See you at the end of the shift.”

He disappears back into his office. Rey sighs and starts pulling out fresh cabbages, cursing Mitaka under her breath.

\---

Hours later, Rey waits impatiently while Ben lowers the store grating, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. It took longer than usual to lock up tonight- some kind of discrepancy with the cash box- and it felt like a million years longer than that, what with Ben being studiously casual towards her. It’s not like she’s feeling particularly flirty after 20+ hours on her feet, but at this point her overtired brain is doubting whether or not he even wants her to be here. It’s noticeably quiet while Ben unlocks his street-level door. 

Once inside the apartment, Rey follows her usual sleepover pattern: bag on the floor, pajamas out of her bag, off to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. There was an excess of leftover biscuits tonight, so no need for a late-night snack. Rey changes into her sweatpants and an old t-shirt, then heads back to the living room. Her sheets sit in a neat pile next to the couch- they stopped bothering to put them away weeks ago- and Rey starts setting them up automatically. 

She glances over and sees Ben hovering at the mouth of the hallway, looking at her.

“Do you-” he restarts his sentence. “Are you sleeping on the couch?” He sounds a little hesitant, and Rey suddenly wonders if he’s been quiet for the same reason she has.

Rey looks down at her hands, holding the sheets. A blush passes over her cheeks. “I, uh, have to get up early. I should probably go right to bed.”

“Right,” he says, “I’m not trying to-” He cuts himself off, looks up at the ceiling like whatever he wants to say is written up there. His uncharacteristic awkwardness strongly reminds Rey of the first time he offered up his couch. She waits it out, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

“The bed is more comfortable,” he says finally, looking back at her. “If you want to sleep there you can. That’s all.”

A small smile turns up the corners of Rey’s mouth. She can’t picture what it’s like to sleep next to Ben, but does like the idea of it.

“Will my alarm wake you up? It’s set for 7:30.”

Ben shrugs. “I’ll fall back asleep.”

“Well...okay.” She can always move to the couch if it gets uncomfortable. Physically or emotionally.

Rey slowly follows Ben towards his bedroom, giving him time to clean anything up he doesn’t want laying around. Dead bodies, maybe. Or dirty underwear. Once she passes the threshold she looks around, pretending that this is the first time she’s seen it. It does look different at night, but it smells exactly the way she remembered: a muskier version of Ben himself. It certainly feels smaller, with both her and Ben in it. 

_ Stop being silly, you’ve slept in a bed with someone before! _

Rey takes a steadying breath, and, not looking at Ben, walks over to the left side of the bed. She pulls back the covers like it’s no big deal and slides down onto the sheets. She settles herself into a comfortable position, surprised to find that the sheets feel silky against her bare feet. Maybe this is how Ben’s wealth materializes, in high quality bedding? Then that’s it- she’s in Ben’s bed. It’s a little sad that she’d feel  _ more  _ comfortable being here if they’d had sex beforehand. This feels more intimate, somehow.

Ben, meanwhile, is plugging in his phone to charge. Rey busies herself setting a phone alarm while he returns; she feels the bed dip slightly when he gets in on his side. She sets her phone down on the side table, and Ben turns off his lamp, sending the room into blackness. For a quiet moment, the two of them are both in his bed, both looking up at the ceiling. Rey feels stiff, her breathing labored.  _ Is this a king-sized bed?  _ she wonders vaguely. There seems to be an unnatural amount of distance between them. 

Moments later, she hears his head turn towards her. He doesn’t say anything, but he does slide his hand under the sheets until it bumps up against her own. Rey takes his hand. With their fingers laced together, the silence suddenly becomes comfortable. Rey breathes out her awkwardness bit by bit, letting herself relax. Ben’s fingers shift slightly against hers, but he seems content not to try anything, just to hold her hand. In the quiet of the room, she can hear him softly exhale one long breath. Seconds calmly tick by, faint noise from the street filtering through the window.

When his voice comes out of the darkness, it doesn’t startle Rey exactly, but it is surprising how different Ben sounds. When he speaks and you’re looking at him, he has such an intense face and figure that it lends those qualities to his voice. Disconnected from all that in the dark, his voice floats instead, softened.

“It’s funny,” he says, almost to himself.

Rey turns her head, eyes adjusted enough that she can make out his nose jutting up from the pillows. 

“What?”

“This room has always been mine, even when I was a boy.”

“Do you have glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up here somewhere?” Rey asks, craning her neck to look side to side.

“Used to,” he says, voice softer. Rey’s mind inexplicably flashes to the mysterious room across the hall, warm yellow and hazy with dust. Ben’s voice sounds like it belongs in that room.

It’s quiet for another few breaths, then Ben says, just as softly. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I’ve never had anyone stay in this room with me.”

Rey doesn’t say anything at first, lulled while listening, but her brow furrows as his words sink in.

“Wait,” she says, looking back at him. “You’ve had people sleep over since then, right?” She flushes a bit, in the dark. “I mean, as an adult, you know…” 

“No.”

“Really?” Rey lets go of his hand in her rush to prop herself up on one elbow. She peers over at Ben intently. “Are you a-?” She cuts herself off. There’s no fucking way he’s a virgin, right? From the way he’s touched her?

Ben huffs out a laugh. “No.”

“Oh, ok,” Rey says. She feels vindicated, right before a brief wind of sadness blows through her, imagining those mysterious Others Ben has been with before her. She stifles that feeling quickly; it’s a little hypocritical, to say the least.

“I don’t bring people back to the apartment,” Ben says, by way of explanation.

“No one?”

Ben pauses, thinking. “Someone fixed my dishwasher, once. Maybe 8 years ago.”

Rey stays propped on her elbow, mouth hanging open a little. The sheer  _ logistics  _ of this revelation are mind-boggling. 

“What about your friends?” she asks incredulously.

“I told you I don’t have any.”

“Family?” she asks, grasping at straws.

He pauses, a long silence in the dark. Rey wishes she could see his face better.

“No family,” he says tightly.

Rey is intrigued, but she files it away for later consideration. She closes her hanging mouth. Slowly lowers herself back down on the bed, automatically reaching out to take his hand again. Finally she laughs, because you have to, don’t you?

“So you’re like Willy Wonka,” she says, shaking her head disbelievingly. She remembers the quote from the movie and mimics it out loud: “Nobody ever goes in, and noooobody ever comes out.”

Ben turns his head. “ _ I  _ come out,” he says, sounding mildly offended.

“First Order is still in your building, doesn’t count!”

“Really.” Ben turns onto his side facing her, and Rey can hear humor color his tone. “I go for a run most days.”

“Do you?” Rey turns on her side to face him as well. She can make out his face now, even in the dark; it helps that he’s as white as they come. “You already know how I feel about that.”

“I don’t just run in the winter,” he says. He’s still holding her hand, but he’s pulled it a little closer to himself, so Rey is also a little closer. “I run all year. Five days a week.”

“Why?” Rey asks, shuddering. The motion closes the distance between them a little more.

Ben takes a moment to actually think of his answer; Rey had thought of it as a throwaway question, but he looks serious.

“It’s good for me,” he says finally. “I used to be...a little...tense. Had a bit of a temper.” Idly, Ben presses his lips to the back of Rey’s hand. “Running helps.”

Rey’s eyebrows arch. She remembers the time he dented the fridge with a coleslaw bin, the many times, tonight included, when he’s snapped at employees.

“This is you _un_ -tense?”

“Yes,” says Ben simply.

“Oh.”

Ben kisses her hand again.

“Can I come over there?” asks Rey.

Ben gently tugs on their joined hands, and Rey shifts over until she’s against him. He rolls onto his back so that her head can pillow on his chest. She drapes an arm over his stomach and his arms wrap firmly around her. She can feel him breathing beneath her.

“You smell like my couch,” he murmurs, leaning his lips towards her ear.

“Dick,” she replies, amiably enough.

Ben leans down a little more, brushing a kiss onto her cheek. Rey shivers, knowing as she does so that he’ll feel it. Laying with Ben is quite the temptation; in some other world, Rey turns and kisses him back. In that world, Rey is a very irresponsible teacher...and also way less tired. Here, now, Rey’s eyes drift shut.

“You’re right,” she mumbles. “The bed is more comfortable.”

Ben hums assent. 

Silence again. Rey’s eyes half-open.

“Ben?”

“Yes?” He’s running the tips of his fingers lightly along her hair. It feels nice.

“You’ve really never had anyone else in your apartment?”

“No. We always went to their place.”

Contentment burns in Rey’s belly. At least she has  _ this  _ first. Then something occurs to her.

“You must’ve felt really bad when I worked all those shifts in a row,” she says sleepily. His hand pauses. “To invite me up here,” she adds.

His hand starts moving again. She feels his next breath drag in his chest.

“Must’ve.” 

Rey falls asleep to the beat of his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making some progress, horizontally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! It has been a long and crazy week for me and the rest of the country. I'm personally privileged enough to be able to work from home, but I know there are tens of thousands of people- especially service industry folks like my characters- experiencing job loss, insecurity, and anxiety. Working on this story cheers me up immensely, and I hope that reading it brings you a little joy in the middle of all this crap, regardless of your situation.
> 
> All that being said: sex is hard, guys. I found this instance of the act way harder to write than foreplay, but hey, I gave it my best shot! I hope you enjoy! Thanks as always for the comments and kudos, and stay safe out there <3

Rey’s alarm goes off at exactly 7:30am. She rolls over to turn it off like she’s done a thousand times before, but it feels like a loooong way to the edge of the bed, way further than her twin bed at home, or Ben’s couch. Mission accomplished, she rests her chin groggily on the silky bed sheets and slowly blinks herself awake. Dark room, dark walls, new smell...it takes a while to come back to her, but she finally recalls that she’s in Ben’s bed. Which means...

There’s a shifting behind her, and Rey peeks over her shoulder. She sees Ben, eyes still shut, turning onto his side; his long hair is mussed around his face, which has the same abnormally peaceful expression from Sunday morning on the couch. Rey cracks a smile, a delighted Christmas-morning grin tempered by her fog of exhaustion. Ben in the same bed as her is brand new territory, but she could get used to this. 

Pushed by a surge of happiness, Rey rolls back over to Ben. She carefully lays a hand on his chest; he feels warm even through the white t-shirt he sleeps in.

“Hey,” she says, pushing a little.

“Mm.” His brow furrows.

Rey pushes him all the way over onto his back, and Ben’s eyes crack open. She sits up next to him, hand still on his chest. He reaches up fuzzily and holds her by the wrist, blinking slowly.

“Are you here?” he asks, still half-asleep.

Rey’s smile widens, and she leans down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Maybe.”

Ben blinks again. Then his mouth slowly twists to the side in that smile she’s beginning to love. Like. Whatever.

Fluidly, he rolls and pulls her with him, until Rey is the one flat on her back and Ben is half on top of her. Rey squeaks in surprise. He nuzzles her face, body a warm furnace covering hers.

“I may have imagined this once or twice,” he rumbles, voice still husky with sleep.

Rey bites her lip. He kisses her throat lightly, lips warm and inquisitive. Rey does some quick mental calculations and... nope, no, there’s no way there’s enough time.

“I have to leave in a few minutes,” she says reluctantly, even as she turns her head to give him better access.

“Hm.” Ben stills. His breath drifts on her skin. “That’s not usually part of this scenario.”

Rey laughs and shifts her head back. She looks into Ben’s eyes; he seems mostly awake now. Encouraged, Rey blurts out “Can I come over tomorrow?”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “You’re not on the schedule.”

“I know,” Rey says softly. She brushes her fingers over his cheek. “I could come after school. Maybe-“ she swallows “-maybe stay over?” She hopes she’s not being too forward. If Ben truly hasn’t invited anyone else to his apartment in 8 years or more- still mind-boggling to her- maybe what they’re doing is already his maximum limit.

Rey’s doubt crumbles when Ben leans down and kisses her warmly.

“Yes,” he says, pulling back but not far at all, just enough so they can make eye contact. “Please.”

Rey internally melts. She grabs a handful of his soft, dark hair. “I can get dressed in 5 minutes,” she murmurs.

They make the 5 minutes count.

\---

It’s amazing how one good morning can change the rest of the day. Rey’s most difficult students just seem endearing. Her cafeteria lunch, the cheapo teacher option, seems to have flavor and crunch. A parent complaint turns out to be just a concern, and one easily handled. Rey even makes Phasma  _ laugh  _ at one point, which is nigh on impossible unless the planets align in intricate ways. By the time Rey gets a seat on the subway ride home from work, it’s really just icing on the cake.

Rey exits her usual station in Washington Heights and is struck again by the light muddy smell of Spring approaching. Everything seems to have so much potential right now...including that old wooden cabinet on the sidewalk. Rey is in too good of a mood to curb her old habits; instead, she approaches the cabinet and gives it a quick once-over. It’s a nice looking piece, smallish with some intricate details, and mercifully it hasn’t gotten very wet even though the owners set it down in a puddle. Idiots. She opens the doors to test the hinges, then checks the sides and back for gouges.

_ “You call me for scarred shit, I’ll give you a scar,” snarls Plutt. “I’m not driving the truck out here for nothing.” _

Rey sets her jaw, refusing to let that old fuck ruin her day. Besides, this piece doesn’t have any major scars. The veneer is coming up a bit on the sides, which is probably why the owners spooked and threw it out. But it’s still good.  _ It can still be fixed _ , she thinks stubbornly.

Rey glances around, following old rules from Queens. Are there any moving vans in the vicinity? Have leaves or other debris landed on the furniture, indicating it’s been here a while? Rey pulls out her phone and loiters for 5 minutes on Instagram, looking up occasionally to see if anyone is coming back to claim the cabinet. Years ago, she would have used her brick-like burner phone to call Plutt when the 5 minutes were up. Now, she tests the weight of the piece and hefts it aloft. She has to awkwardly waddle with the cabinet in her arms, but the apartment is only a few blocks away, and it really is small enough to be manageable. She’s lifted worse.

Still, it’s kind of a pain to get furniture through the door. Back in the apartment, Rey sets it down with a loud thump, startling a couple of younglings.

“Hi guys,” says Rey, a little out of breath but still inclined to be friendly.

“Oh, hey!” They see the cabinet in the hallway. “Where are we putting this one?”

“I don’t know yet,” says Rey thoughtfully. Then she shrugs and starts sliding it along the floor, down the hallway and into her bedroom. Her poor poinsettia gets some water, but then Rey gets right down to business; she ties back her hair and prepares to enter The Zone. She picks out a playlist on Spotify, ties a bandana over her mouth and nose, slips on a pair of goggles to protect her eyes, and finally busts out her furniture polish. It pricks her nose even through the bandana, a familiar scent.

“This is your lucky day, friend,” Rey says to the cabinet, starting to scrub. She smiles underneath her makeshift mask. “You and me both.” 

\---

The next afternoon, Rey lurks by Ben’s street door and tries not to look nervous. Her good mood and better luck have carried over from yesterday thus far, but that means, in her experience, that she’s overdue for bad luck. In this particular scenario, bad luck would look like Rose or Mitaka or Snap swinging by the neighborhood before work and seeing her here. It would also be bad luck if Ben didn’t let her inside. 

Maybe it’s too early? It’s 4:25, and Rey  _ did  _ text Ben to ask him if she could head over, and he  _ did  _ reply “Yes.” But maybe he’s going to come downstairs just to tell her that he’s changed his mind and actually he can’t possibly have sex with his employee.

To be clear, that’s what Rey  _ really _ is nervous about. Because she wants it to happen. Badly. And if he doesn’t want the same thing then she might as well take her overstuffed backpack and camp in a hole in the ground, because she’ll need one to swallow her up.

She pushes the buzzer. “It’s fine,” Rey whispers. “This is fine, he likes it, he likes you, it’s-” 

She hears footfalls on the stairs and shuts up.

Ben comes into focus behind the cloudy glass pane of the street door. He pulls the door open with a faint squeak ( _ needs some WD-40 _ , thinks Rey nervously) but stays inside within the landing.

“Hi,” he says simply, making eye contact first before dropping his gaze lower. Rey is wearing what she thinks of as teacher clothes- nothing fancy, just a forest green dress that swishes at her knees and brown lace-up Oxfords. But it’s miles different from her usual First Order polo shirt and jeans, and it must be the first time Ben’s seen her in a dress. His eyes flit over her bare legs and then back up to her hair, which is down. 

“Hi yourself,” Rey says crisply, shifting the straps of her backpack. Of course  _ he’s _ just wearing black, per usual. “Are you gonna let me in?”

“Sorry,” says Ben, not sounding very sorry. He shifts even further back to leave room for Rey as she enters and starts up the stairs. She can hear him follow behind her, the usual silence -then-step of him skipping the bottom stair. Rey rides her relief like a wave to the door at the top of the stairs and then into the apartment. She slings her bag familiarly down onto the floor. 

“How’s it going?” she asks, once Ben closes the door behind them. Her nerves give her voice an abnormally perky edge. “Gone on your usual ten mile run yet today?”

Ben tilts his head. “How did you know it was ten?”

“Don’t tell me I’m  _ right _ ,” moans Rey, “I meant that as a  _ joke _ .”

His lips twitch. “Sorry to disappoint.” On second glance, Ben’s hair does seem a bit damp, like he took a shower recently. He leans against the counter and watches her kneel to unlace her shoes. “You seem like you’re well,” he says.

“I’m in a good mood,” Rey replies breezily, taking off her shoes. “My kids were super easy today AND my principal said I impressed her in my last observation. And let’s see-” she pauses and pretends to tally on her fingers “-I’m not hungover and I’m not working for my 18th hour straight. That probably makes a difference.” Rey stands up, brushes her dress straight, and steps over to Ben, closer than she would stand to anyone else. “And I’m seeing you,” she adds a bit shyly. “That’s good too.”

“I made the list?” Ben’s tone is amused and his gaze is warm... but his hands stay at his sides. Internally, Rey groans in frustration. Are they not there yet? Does he not want to kiss her while sober and fully awake, even in the privacy of his apartment? That would be stupid, given how enthusiastic they both were about kissing while horizontal in bed just yesterday morning.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” she says. Rey looks up at him with a faint smile, but maybe her eyes tell some of the story she’s not saying aloud. Ben looks back at her and then-  _ finally _ \- lifts his hands and takes her by the shoulders. Rey’s breathing pauses involuntarily. His gaze lingers a moment, like he’s noticed, then drops down to her outfit.

“You look nice,” he says quietly. Almost casually, his hands start to slide down her arms. 

Rey’s cheeks redden slightly, and she breathes in again. “Oh, thanks,” she says lightly, like nothing has changed. “They’re just teacher clothes.” Warmth buzzes on her bare skin where he’s touching her and seems to spread inwards.  _ This  _ is what Rey craves, what Ben has given her from the first time he shook her hand: contact. She swallows, mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“When do you have to go to work?” she asks, a little unfocused. She reaches out instinctively to put her hands on Ben’s hips. He feels solid. More warmth.

“Six, six-thirty,” Ben says. He lets go of her arms and deliberately cups her face in his hands, thumbs stroking the heated curve of her cheeks. “Maybe seven. Maybe later.”

“You’re inconsistent, you know that?” Rey shakes her head despairingly even within his grasp. She’s not just talking about him as a manager.

“Why?” He smoothly pulls her close so her face leans against his chest, and his arms slide around to her back. The bastard must know what he’s doing to her, but Rey isn’t about to fight it. She snuggles into the embrace with a sigh and inhales his scent. She can feel her heart beating against her ribs.

“You’re in and out of the store all the time,” Rey says wryly, voice muffled against him. She feels a dull tug as his hand locates the zipper at the back of her dress. He pauses, but Rey doesn’t object. She closes her eyes as he gently starts pulling it down. “If we weren’t such  _ excellent  _ employees, we’d be able to do whatever we wanted.”

“Excellent?” Ben repeats, sounding doubtful. Also a bit hushed. The fingers of his right hand sweep over Rey’s bared shoulder blades, making her shudder against him. He bends his head down, nuzzling her hair. His left hand keeps pulling the dress’s zipper down to its nadir. “Maybe that’s why I’m an asshole,” Ben says, lips close to her ear. “To keep you in line.”

“Or maybe you’re just an asshole,” says Rey archly. She pulls away from Ben’s chest, eyes half-lidded, one hand coming up to her neckline to keep her dress from falling down. She can feel the green fabric gaping behind her, the curve of her lower back spiking with gooseflesh. It seems like ages ago that Ben let her in through the door.

“I never said that I wasn’t,” he murmurs, brown eyes heated. His gaze flicks down to survey her, and his lips stay parted as he breathes in shallowly. Then Ben puts both of his hands back onto her shoulders, twin pools of warmth.

“Please.” 

He exhales it, meeting Rey’s gaze. A question, a statement, a need. Rey nods faintly and lets go of her neckline. Ben brushes the fabric away and it drops into a puddle at her feet, leaving Rey almost naked in front of her manager.

It’s unclear who moves first. 

When Rey’s mental system deigns to reload, she’s buried deep in an overdue kiss with Ben, only one foot on the floor while the other leg climbs his thigh. He’s holding her up there, one hand fisted in the soft flesh of her ass, the other pulling off her plain silky bra. Rey grabs his shoulders and hoists herself all the way up onto him, wrapping her knees around his waist. His back slams against the kitchen island and he growls against her lips. Rey pulls back dizzily to ask if he’s ok but her breath catches when he dives his head down and bites at the top of her breast. 

“Ah!” The cry falls out past her lips, and only seems to encourage him. Rey grinds her crotch against his abs as her whole body tightens under his teeth. She grabs Ben’s hair, not very gently, to yank him up to her mouth again. He eagerly follows her lead, but after only a few breathless seconds entwined he pulls his face free.

“Bed,” he pants. He looks like a hot mess. A  _ very  _ hot mess. “I want you on the bed.”

“Do you have condoms?” Rey asks, heart drumming a  _ YES _ . Her fingers move compulsively along his strong jaw.

“Yes.” Ben’s eyes are laser focused on Rey’s slender neck, and he leans in for a bite.

Rey stops him, holding his face in her hands; he stubbornly turns to drag his teeth on her palm, the next-closest thing. “No,” she chides, “No more bruises.”

Ben pulls away from her hand with a hasty kiss. His dark eyes are comically pleading. Or maybe not comically; Rey relents and adds: “Not where anyone can see.”

“Anything else?” He grates.

“Not at all.” Rey smiles wickedly, her lips over his. “Not. At. All.”

Ben surprises her then, arms surging beneath her. Rey lets out a yelp and at the end of the shifting she’s held, bridal-style, in his arms.

“I can walk,” she complains feebly, blinking down at the suddenly distant floor.

“This is faster,” he mutters. He carries her off like she weighs approximately nothing.

By the time they hit his bed Rey’s body is adjusting to reality: she’s going to get fucked.  _ It’s happening _ , her thighs seem to say, spreading.  _ It’s happening _ , her heart seems to beat, pumping blood to the rosy flesh beneath Ben’s lips. Rey hasn’t been fucked in over a year, and her entire being wants Ben to be the one to break the drought. But first...

“Take this off,” she whispers, tugging his shirt. “Please.” Her eyes are wide, pleading with him. “I want to see all of you.”

Ben obeys quickly, stripping off his shirt first, gifting Rey with a view of the dense muscles bunched at his ribs. Rey gets busy unbuttoning his pants, and he helps her pull them down: pants, underwear, socks. She wants him  _ bare _ . She wants all of him at once.

“You too,” he says heatedly, pupils blown out. His cock swings when he moves, almost as hard as it was when it first entered her mouth on Sunday. Rey complies, speedily pulling her underwear off. Ben’s silky bedsheets reward her, caressing her naked skin as she lays back on the bed.

_ This is happening _ , her cunt seems to cry out, quivering under the cool breath of fresh air in a stranger’s bedroom.

But he’s not a stranger, is he? Not now, when his whole beautiful body is bared next to hers. His muscles crawl up his figure in a gorgeous flow, lines networking down from his chest to the thick thighs that bookend his cock. Rey looks at him, overwhelmed. She’s grateful that Ben pauses as well, his eyes raking over her body. He’s breathing hard, even though the real exertion is still yet to come.

“Come here,” he says, pulling her close.

Rey readily moves, sheets losing their coolness as her overheated body steals over them. Her breathing is  _ highly _ irregular. Especially snatched between kisses. Especially with her tender breasts pressed against his bare chest. Especially when his thick fingers drop down to tease at her lower lips.

“Ah!” Rey clenches around him, eyes closing. Her walls are swollen enough that they push back against his digits, even while her depths seem to scream out for more, harder, deeper. She feels his hot breath fall across her face; Ben sucks on her plush lower lip while he fingers her.

“So wet for me, Rey” he whispers finally, breaking free. He says her name like a pet name, beloved. “Rey, you feel  _ ready.” _

“Yes,” she moans back, voice far weaker than she’d like. She swallows hard, tries to regain her senses. “Where- where are your condoms?”

“My end table,” says Ben, but he’s too enraptured to move.

Rey summons her strength to pull free of his hand and move herself instead. She reaches over Ben’s body, eyes closing as she presses flush with his skin. His heat is a  _ drug _ ; it takes all of her willpower not to sink onto his naked cock right there and then. Ben exhales shakily, his warm arms wrapping around her. His broad hands slide down her backside, curl to cup the round of her ass.

“Rey,” he moans helplessly. Squeezes tight. “Top drawer. Fast.”

Rey forces her eyes open and scrabbles inside his drawer until her fingers hit a light cardboard box. Much better than a Gideon’s Bible. Ben continues to press kisses to her exposed skin, cock pressing against her, but somehow Rey pulls herself away far enough that she can sit next to him and pull out a condom.

“When was your last time?” She asks, breathing fast. These things are a bitch to rip open.

“Few years,” he says. His fingers run along her spine. 

“Same, basically.” Rey is rewarded with the sticky slip of wet latex against her fingers. She pulls the condom free, then looks down into Ben’s eyes.

“Can I-?” She swallows. “Let me start on top, ok?”  _ I don’t want your dick to tear me apart. _

“Ok,” he says rustily.

Rey draws closer to him, staring down at his body for another luxurious moment. She turns her attention to his most urgent area, leaning down to suck on the head of his cock. Ben’s abs clench and she feels his hand on the back of her neck, a promising weight. It’s tempting to linger here, but the demands of her cunt won’t let her be sidetracked for long. She breaks away and fits the condom to the tip of his cock; it’s like throwing a butterfly net onto a redwood. It seems a shame to cover all of that warm, rippled flesh...but Rey rolls the latex down along his length, sheathing him. Then she uses his chest as a mounting block, steadying herself while she straddles his lap. 

_ Here we are _ , Rey thinks, both thrilled and surprised. Maybe he thinks it too; Ben lies still underneath her, diaphragm barely moving. Poised above him, Rey takes Ben in hand and moves him to her slit while her manager watches. There’s the head, pushing her lips aside... For a moment he’s  _ there _ , thick and hot even through the thick latex, his most intimate part touching the entrance of hers. It’s not a new feeling, but she’s almost shaking like this is her first time. As if he knows, Ben’s hands come to her thighs and he rubs them warmly. Rey looks back at him and he nods slightly, encouraging.

Rey lets out a shaky breath, then gingerly lowers herself.

Ben groans beneath her as his first couple of inches enter. His fingers clench on her thighs, and his hips tightly buck up beneath her, pushing himself in a bit more. Rey hisses and holds herself up, feeling split.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, forcing himself still. His fingers unclench slowly. “You feel so tight.”

“I  _ am _ tight,” Rey grits out. He feels like a goddamn log flowing upstream, against the flushed walls of her cunt. It’s  _ amazing  _ and daunting, simultaneously. She slides herself up and then down over the length of him already inside her, lubricating them both. Adjusting. Ben raptly watches where their bodies are joined, and when Rey steals a glance down she has to admit: it’s hot watching his cock disappear into her. He feels fucking huge, and he  _ is _ fucking huge, laying beneath her. But she’s going to take it. She’s going to take it because it’s all she wants in the world right now. With an unsteady breath, Rey drops herself down the rest of the way, easing the thick base of his cock up into herself.

Ben groans into the air, his noise blending with Rey’s. For one, two breaths, Rey just breathes. They breathe together. Then it’s a question of rhythm, of building up steam. Rey braces her weight against Ben’s chest as she starts to move slowly, and he absorbs it, watching her with an unguarded expression, lips parted. She stares down at his collarbones, increasing her speed. Ben’s hands move from her thighs to her hips and her cunt eggs her on, asks for  _ more _ , asks for angles and edges. A scrape. Rey finds a place where Ben’s cock slides on her insides  _ just so _ and she moans, fingers tightening.

“Give it to me,” whispers Ben, enthralled. His grip tightens on her hips, and when she comes down again his pelvis is  _ there,  _ rising to meet hers. A wordless noise puffs out of Rey’s mouth and he does it again, again. She can feel her insides sculpting to fit him, stretching to take the shape of his cock. She doesn’t register when he takes over the pace of their fucking, but it’s later and instead of her driving their motion it’s him, pulling down on her ass while he pumps himself into her. Rey’s fingers are claws on his shoulders.

“Ben,” she pants, feeling full, so full, “Tell me again.”

“Anything,” he says huskily, eyes blazing. He leans up to kiss at her collarbones. “What do you need?”

Rey holds her cunt down, lets Ben ream into her at close distance, almost a heartbeat. She clutches at his hair. “Tell me...” she says faintly, “Tell me I’m the only one you’ve ever fucked in this bed.”

Ben groans and slows. His cock jumps up deep inside her, almost a spasm. “Only you,” he says tightly, holding himself in to the hilt. “Rey, only you.” 

“And did you think about this?” she asks, feeling molten. She leans down to kiss his gaping lips, cradles the cords of his throat with one hand. Ben’s grip changes and she’s falling, they’re tilting, he’s keeping her on him even as they transition. He kisses her fiercely, moving until she’s lying beneath him. Rey grabs onto the thick wings of his back as he starts fuck her again.

“Yes,” he says, dropping his forehead near her neck.

“Yes?” Rey’s almost forgotten what she said. It’s distracting to have him inside her. She laces her legs around his waist, wanting him near.

“Yes, I thought about this,” Ben says, voice strained. “I wanted this, wanted you, Rey…”

“Wanted me in your bed?” Rey’s eyes drift half closed and she reaches down between them, letting her fingers find her clit near where their bodies are joined. She can feel Ben arching his abs slightly out of her way.

“Everywhere,” he growls against her neck. Rey’s breath hitches. “I’ve thought about fucking you-” he pumps again, harder- “ _ everywhere _ .”

“Ben,” Rey moans. Her fingers chase each other around her clit. She moves her other hand to touch his lips, to hook her fingers inside his warm mouth, against his slick tongue. A dizzying heat crackles up from her toes, building up, up, up. “I thought about fucking you,” she whispers. “I almost fucked you at the club.”

Ben double-pumps, stuttering; she hears him exhale like a hiss right by her ear. A second later he pulls up his head just enough to hover above hers. Rey frees his mouth and caresses his jaw instead. He stares into her eyes, pupils blown.

“On Saturday night?” he asks hungrily. “That club?”

“Y-yes.” Rey arches to meet him on the next thrust. Ben shuts his eyes and firmly grinds himself into her, swimming his hips. Rey’s hand drops from his jaw to his neck, and she tightens her grip.

“ _ Harder _ ,” she groans, and Ben gyrates again, leaning his weight into it. His torso traps her fingers between them, but Rey desperately circles her clit anyway.

“Tell me about it, Rey,” he says, dark as sin. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” He pulses his cock, rubbing against her  _ just there. _ “Tell me what you would do.” 

“I wanted to fuck you so bad,” Rey murmurs, her own eyes shutting. She lets the fantasy swell up in her mind, fingers speeding up. “I would have done it on the table. Or standing, in a corner of the crowd.” Ben’s own rhythm increases, and Rey’s legs start to tremble around his waist.

“I should have pulled you into the bathroom,” she pants, dizzy. “Let you fuck me against the mirror, on my knees on the floor, from behind…”

“ _ Fuck _ .” Ben’s deep voice packs an ocean of emphasis into that single word. Rey feels one of his hands come up to her face, strangely tender. “I”m going to come, Rey, I’m-”

“Yes, please,” begs Rey. She tips herself over the edge quickly, while she’s still full. Her hips chase his up and down and he pulses inside of her. Rey dimly hears Ben through the haze of her own pleasure, groaning as he finishes, freezing above her. Their bodies feel locked, all tense muscles and loose, flowing warmth. 

Then it’s just breathing. The room blurs a little, and everything starts to slow down. Rey sinks into the mattress- they’ve knocked all of the bedding off- and lets out a shaky laugh. Ben falls on his forearms above her, still inside her. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead. Rey tilts her head back to kiss him on the lips. Their tongues tangle a moment, everything looser and easier now. It feels like some great  _ What If  _ has been laid to rest.

Afterwards, once Ben has disposed of the condom and they’ve both washed up a little, the two of them lie in his bed. They’re not in any hurry; Rey’s legs twine through his, his fingers skim over her ribs. He kisses her wherever grabs his attention, like planting a flag on a new continent: the smooth skin below her armpit, the sensitive fuzz of her hairline, the inside of her wrist. Rey combs her fingers through his hair and laughs at him.

“What?” he says, muffled against her neck.

“I thought you didn’t want to kiss me,” she says. Ben pulls back and looks at her, confused; his expressions are much easier to read when he’s only a few inches away. “You didn’t kiss me when you first opened the door,” Rey explains.

“Oh.” He cradles her face, eyes zeroing onto her lips. “How should I have kissed you?”

Rey shakes her head, smiling. “You can’t distract me. Why didn’t you?”

Ben sighs through his nose, then makes eye contact again. “We wouldn't have made it upstairs,” he says baldly.

Rey blushes a little, but pushes her body closer. “It would have just been a kiss,” she murmurs.

Ben nuzzles his nose against hers. His lips hover on hers, promising. “Kissing you,” he says, deep voice rumbling, “is not just a kiss.”

Their mouths meet, and it all starts over again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #BenSoloisaMess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have my notes at the bottom so I won't spoil anything, see you there!

Ben wakes up from a deep sleep around noon the next day, and his first instinct is to reach out for Rey. His fingers float into empty space and fall flat on the mattress, prompting his eyes to open. No one’s next to him. For an uncomfortable moment Ben wonders if he imagined her- but, no- his body is naked beneath the sheets, and sated, and the air still smells faintly like sex. Reassured, he groans and rolls over to her side of the bed where she’s left a neat indent. He remembers her laying here, soft and asleep and intoxicatingly _his._ Even picturing her makes his hands burn, like he’s still touching her. It’s foolish, but Ben inhales deeply and lets himself feel completely content. 

Habit finally draws him out of the bed. He pads into the living area and surveys his domain, still undressed. Rey is long gone to work, but she’s here, too, superimposed like an image after a camera bulb’s flash. _There_ was where her green dress fell on the floor. _There_ was where she drank water from the tap sometime after their second round of sex. _There_ was where she kissed him before he went downstairs for his night shift. There are years- decades- of memories packed into this apartment, but Rey is starting to carve her own niche in the crowd, like the nest she left behind in the bed.

The unusual feeling of lightness- maybe happiness- follows Ben into the shower. Normally he works slowly through the motions of cleaning himself, just checking off boxes. Today everything feels reframed by Rey: she’s coming tonight, so she’ll notice if he’s showered or not. Her skin will touch his in all these sensitive places; it’s no longer a question of _if_ but of when. And how many times.

After the shower Ben shaves, doing his best not to focus on his own face in the mirror; he’s never been a fan, though enough women have approached him in life nevertheless. Rey seems to like it. Or not mind it, at least. Ben’s gaze briefly drops from his chin to his shoulders, which bear long red nail marks as further testament that Rey does not mind him. He’d come home after closing up First Order, almost shy, and found Rey as a comfortable lump in his bed; he’d watched her at first from the doorway before stripping his clothes off and getting in bed and pressing up from behind her, waking her up. That last time, she’d had nothing else to hold onto but his shoulders and neck. The red scrapes burn a little, now, but Ben doesn’t mind.

His mood settles as the morning goes on, as he moves through his series of set routines. After shaving, he brews coffee. With coffee, he eats. The longer he’s alone in the apartment, the more subdued he becomes and the more closely he guards his thoughts. The rooms feel silent without Rey in them, and the silence reminds him of all the voices he might hear if he slips up and listens. But he won’t. He doesn’t. He’s stronger than that. There’s only an uneasy truce between himself and the ghosts of the past, but the worst triggers in the apartment are hidden. Everything else he can navigate, using his routines as safe roads through dangerous territory. 

When the silence starts to become deadening, Ben stumps down the stairs to get his mail. He’s already thinking about the day ahead: the deliveries coming in for First Order, who to tap to fill in for Mitaka tonight (He says that he’s sick. Doubtful.). He picks up the scattered papers from the tiles by the mail slot and starts flipping through them as he walks back upstairs. There’s a flyer for some new bodega, someone running for county judge, a real estate agent ad, a bill for First Order...and something else.

Ben stops at the top of the stairs. His breathing stops too.

There’s an envelope from an actual human at the bottom of the stack. He can tell because the addresses have been handwritten on the front. Handwritten in elegant cursive.

_“Don’t know why you need that damn thing, your handwriting’s better than the computer.”_

Ben tilts his head abruptly to the side, like he’s been swimming and there’s water in his ear to dislodge. He still hears the answer:

_“Ben and I don’t need it, but YOU do. I’ve seen your chicken scratch.”_

_“MY chicken scratch? Well ok, princess-”_

“Stop.” Ben says it out loud, eyes shutting. The carefully ordered walls in his mind creak, take the hit. He forces his lungs to move: in, out, air thin through his nose. The voices fall to a murmur. He reaches out in front of himself, blindly aiming for the doorknob. He will not, _can_ not, let the voices continue at the top of the stairs; he knows it somewhere deep under his ribs where he can’t think it out loud. Once he’s found the handle, Ben carefully walks forward and into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. His eyes flutter back open and he looks instinctively at the clean gray walls. 

Bare. Sterile. Different. This is his home now.

Ben’s breathing steadies but he can still feel his pulse vibrating his wrists. He doesn’t need to double-check himself, but he can’t help his gaze from dropping down to the envelope again. _Weak._ No, just to make sure. The script curls and flows smoothly, writing out a return address in upstate New York. Looks like she still uses fountain pens.

_He sits in her lap. She has his hand wrapped in her own, and both of them support a fountain pen. Ben’s eyes widen as the ink from its nib makes a tiny blot on the bare paper._

_“Write your name for me, Ben.”_

“No,” Ben says again, an adult standing in his own home. It’s always been his own home, that’s the problem. “ _No,_ ” he says again, fiercely, and he strides off towards the dead room. Normally, he has nothing to do with that place, but this is not a normal occasion. The ghosts seem to be rising with a muttering noise, an ocean trying to flood his defenses. The risk of him keeping the letter in his hand is higher than the risk of walking inside. So, face pale and strained, Ben stalks down the hallway and to the door of the storage room- or, no, the second bedroom.

_She has a tin can with thread stretched from her room to his. She tells him he can’t sleep in their bed anymore, but he can talk into his can and she’ll hear him, just like a telephone._

Ben impulsively presses the scrapes on his shoulder, causing a bright pulse of pain that cuts off the memory. Bracing himself, he swings the door open, sending dust spinning into the air. The warm glow of the yellow walls is a comforting tone, but he knows better than to stay here for long. The voices are calling out, grabbing. Ben tries to white out his mind as he steps inside. 

_Eighteen, he grimly disassembles their four poster bed-_

Ben _punches_ his collarbone. It helps. He glances around until he sees the pile on the floor. Tosses the letter down. Pulls out of the room and in the same sweep slams the door shut behind him.

Silence. Maybe a couple of minutes have passed since he first saw the envelope.

Ben thinks about nothing but his breathing for a while, until his shoulder stops throbbing. The envelope and the room have set off tension in him like a radio’s crackle. He tries to check on the state of his defenses without acknowledging he has any defenses, an old trick he’s perfected over the years.

A whisper: _But don’t you remember?_

He bolts into his bedroom and changes into his running gear. Fridays are usually an off day, but Ben needs the exertion badly. He needs to not be in this apartment. He flees- telling himself it’s not fleeing- out the front door and down the staircase.

Behind the slammed door of the second bedroom- the yellow room- storage room- dead room- quiet stasis resumes. Dust motes land gently on the surface of the discarded envelope, creating a fine film over the beautiful handwriting. In turn, the envelope partially covers the ones underneath it. All bear the same address from upstate New York. All are marked with the same cursive name:

_Leia Organa-Solo_

_Leia Organa-Solo_

_Leia Organa-Solo_

_Leia Organa-Solo…_

The pile is a half-foot deep, 14 years in the making. Some of the envelopes are brittle and discolored with age. All are unopened. 

\---

Ben ends up running his usual ten mile loop, breath sounding harsh in his ears. The run helps dull his edges as always, but he can still feel anxiety frothing below the calmed surface. Frustrated, Ben slows to a fast walk and rakes damp hair back from his face. A good run normally tires him out, but today he’s still twitchy. He’s not ready to face the apartment yet.

The sound of kids playing echoes in the air. Ben slows his steps further. He looks up and realizes that his path has wandered towards Rey’s local school. But why? She’s working, obviously. 

_Brown eyes like his, exasperated but kind. “Don’t bother me when I’m working, honey.”_

He exhales in a hiss, tightly shaking his head. If _those_ thoughts haven’t settled, he can’t go see Rey. He’d have better luck texting her, maybe, but he avoids that even in normal circumstances. To him, Rey’s warm presence is like a flickering candle down to its end; he won’t light it any more than necessary, for fear that it will go out. He also doesn’t, or shouldn’t, expect it to light up the darkness. 

_“There’s a darkness in him, why can’t you see it!”_

Ben breaks back into a run. He heads south instinctively, towards Snoke’s place.

\---

Snoke lives in a regal three story brownstone directly across from Prospect Park. The exterior is maintained immaculately, from the hedges by the stairway to the shingles on the roof. The very appearance of the place demands order, scorns chaos. Ben recognizes that his own sweaty exterior is out of place here, but maybe Snoke will be charmed rather than disgusted. The man has fickle moods, and it’s as likely that he’ll be kind as cruel.

Ben walks up the steps and rings the buzzer, taking a moment to compose himself. The voices are silent here, which helps. Snoke never answers the door himself, so his mask only needs to be good enough to fool the housekeeper. She opens up soon enough: a dour older woman whose uniform is as strictly tended as her surroundings. Ben guesses that she resents his disheveled appearance, but she isn’t stupid enough to say anything. Her face gives nothing away.

“Mister Solo,” she says by way of greeting. “He’s up in his study.”

Ben nods and steps into the foyer. The ceiling above him extends all the way to the third floor, with a skylight filtering sunshine down onto the intricate wood-inlaid floors. To his left is a large formal dining room, and to his right is an even grander parlor, its open entrance framed by tall columns. Ben barely spares either room a glance; he walks straight across the foyer to the elegant staircase in front of him. A rich red carpet leads him up the steps and onto the second floor, where the door to Snoke’s study is ajar. Ben pulls the last pieces of his mask into place and crosses the threshold.

It’s dark in the study, but Snoke likes it that way. The velvet curtains are drawn and one old lamp emits enough light to cast a bleak yellow puddle. Ben’s eyes snag on the half-lit paraphernalia littered liberally around the room. There’s an enormous globe, a replica of a Roman statue, a bar cart stocked with liquor more expensive than the former combined. For a man who built his fortune through fast food, Snoke’s taste is certainly more champagne than cola.

The man himself sits at his fearsome desk, within the lamp’s sphere, wrapped in a dull gold dressing gown. He hasn’t looked up from his paperwork yet, but Ben waits patiently in place on the Persian rug, glad that his sweat has cooled and won’t drip onto the thick material. For all its excess, the study is familiar to him, and the extra minute waiting gives him more time to soothe his unsettled mind.

Finally Snoke looks up. 

“Young Solo,” he says warmly, gesturing in front of his desk. “Do come in.”

Ben crosses the carpet to stand across from the desk; there aren’t any chairs for visitors to sit.

Snoke looks over Ben’s running clothes with a wry expression. “I’m delighted to have you here,” he says, “though I see it wasn’t your original intent to come.” He sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I haven’t heard much from you lately, my favorite franchisee.”

Though Snoke’s words are mild, Ben can hear the sharp question lurking behind that last sentence. A reprimand, then. When he was a younger man, Ben came to see Snoke at least weekly, seeking guidance. Now, Ben normally visits once a month to check in, but ever since he hired Rey he’s been avoiding the older man, afraid that he’d somehow slip up and mention her. Snoke has an uncanny ability to see through him.

“It’s been busy,” Ben says aloud.

“Of course, of course,” says Snoke, still affecting a genteel tone. “You have duties. In my retirement I’ve forgotten how much work it is to run a First Order.” Hardly; Snoke forgets nothing, and only a stupid man would think he’s completely retired. Ben starts to feel uneasy, like maybe this visit should have been postponed. 

Snoke, meanwhile, closes the ledger he’s been working on. “You’ve still been attending the monthly meetings, I hear.”

Ben subtly braces himself.

“I heard,” Snoke continues, “that you even brought company to the last meeting.” His gaze hardens, and the tone is less pleasant. “A girl?”

Ben is more resigned than surprised that Snoke knows, but that doesn’t stop a hot streak of anger from lancing through his gut. He’s going to kill whoever brought the story to Snoke, and he’s almost certain it was Hux. The other owners are a cold and calculating bunch, but they wouldn’t gossip about Ben’s business in case it kept Ben from gossiping about _their_ business. Hux, on the other hand, has a personal grudge and a tendency to keep his vices tidied away, where they can’t be used against him.

“I got a letter,” Ben says, sidestepping the question. It’s what’s on his mind anyway, why he’s here.

Snoke purses his lips but allows the topic to change. His twisted face settles and becomes sympathetic.

“One of _those_ letters?” he asks grimly.

“Yes.”

Snoke’s pale eyes survey Ben’s face, like a microscope closing in. “Yes,” he says simply, “I can see that you have. You try to hide these things from me, Ben, but I know your mind.”

Ben exhales lightly, and he can’t help a bit of his younger self coming out: he irrationally hopes that Snoke can fix things, that his mentor can guide him through this. It’s comforting that someone knows him better than he does.

“Has it upset you,” the older man asks silkily.

“It means nothing,” Ben says, words they both don’t believe.

“Ben,” Snoke says warmly, comforting. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. _I_ know when you’re troubled. I can feel your pain.” Then, just as kindly: “Your dumb slut of a mother does this on purpose, to hurt you.”

Something deep in Ben twinges in protest. Very deep. Outwardly, he keeps his eyes turned hopefully towards Snoke. Needing words to heal. 

“You’re _strong_ , my boy,” says his mentor, standing. “She knows that you’re strong. She _fears_ it.” He starts to move from behind the desk, one hand trailing on its surface for support. “She shoots letters at you like arrows against a stone wall, trying to break you down.” His eyes gleam. “But you cannot be broken down.”

“No,” murmurs Ben, half-believing.

“No,” Snoke repeats, approaching. “She tries to unsettle you, using her tricks. But she will be dead before you fall.” A small shudder trembles Ben’s shoulders, but he doesn’t look away. Snoke’s rail-thin height is apparent at such a close distance; the older man puts his gnarled hands on his protege’s shoulders. His ice-pale eyes are only inches from Ben’s, hypnotizing. “You’ll outlast her, because you are strong. Because you’ll _forget_ her.” 

“Yes,” says Ben, wanting it with all his heart.

Snoke squeezes his shoulders, gaze warm and absolving. “What have I always told you?”

Ben swallows. They’ve stood in these exact places, said these words years ago. He says thinly: “She can’t hurt me if she doesn’t exist.”

Snoke nods, repeats it: “She cannot hurt you if she doesn’t exist.”

Ben’s brown eyes are anguished. He nods jerkily. “I’ve forgotten her,” he says quietly, voice cracking. “I have. I was weak for a moment, just a moment…”

“Good boy,” Snoke murmurs. He gently pats Ben’s cheek with one wizened hand and Ben bows his head, a mixture of fear and relief and belonging twisting sick in his gut. He exhales shakily, shutting his eyes. Snoke’s fingers linger on his cheek and he feels true calm settle in him for the first time since he saw the envelope. He’s _so_ glad he came, glad for Snoke’s forgiveness.

“Now,” says Snoke quietly. “The girl.” His voice darkens. “Who is she.”

Ben’s eyes open. He’s tipsy on a cocktail of his own emotions, off balance. As, perhaps, Snoke expected.

Ben raises his face and takes a step back. Snoke’s hand drops away from his cheek. A glint of impatience shines in those cold eyes.

“She’s no one,” says Ben, grasping for his defenses. “I met her that night.”

“You met her?” Snoke snorts humorlessly. “Not during a business meeting.” As kind as his voice was before, now it cuts: “I know you Solo, you don’t have time in your life to meet someone. There’s no room for a human in your endless routines.”

Ben grits his teeth, stung by the truth and the hit on his unmasked flesh. He draws on his sense of betrayal for fuel. “I have met someone,” he spits, “and she is part of my life. I don’t need to report that to you. I’m not owned by First Order.”

“No?” Snoke smirks, infuriating. He glides on before Ben can reply. “This girl of yours, then. Why aren’t you talking to _her_ about the letter?” 

Ben’s chest tightens. “She’s at work,” he mutters, subdued.

“Really.” Snoke clasps his hands behind his back and starts strolling around Ben in a circle. Ben stands, heavy, in the middle.

“Yes.”

“But you _would_ tell her.”

“ _Yes._ ”

“So you’ve told her...everything?”

The question hangs in the air with dreadful implications. Implications they both know Ben cannot consider. Ben turns his head to look at Snoke, who is gazing back at him steadily. He gathers a breath. “What is there to tell,” he says with forced calm.

“Oh,” the old man sweeps his arm, gesturing. “Everything.” His lips curl upwards, but the light stays dark in his eyes. “Anything, really.”

“There’s nothing she needs to know,” Ben amends. His voice is brittle, and sweat pricks at the back of his neck. He can’t think about anything.

“So what if she asks about your family?”

“I don’t have one,” Ben says automatically.

“Ah, but you must have had parents.” Snoke resumes circling around Ben, predatory. 

“Mine are gone.”

“Gone?” Snoke scoffs. “But one wrote you a letter.”

Ben suppresses a flinch. His palms are sweating. “A distant cousin.”

“But she looks up the name, finds your mother.”

This time he can’t keep his eye from twitching. “She’s dead to me,” he says hoarsely. “Abandoned me.”

“Left you,” purrs Snoke, agreeing. “But she’s writing to you, isn’t she? Maybe she misses you.” His voice drips sarcasm.

Anger kindles in Ben’s stomach. “She just wants the building.”

“Did you steal it from her?”

“ _No.”_ Ben’s voice comes out as a snarl. “It’s mine, my inheritance.”

“Inherited from _who_?”

“That’s none of her business!” Ben shouts. His words ring in a sudden silence, and he realizes his hands are curled into tight fists and his chest is heaving. The sweat on his skin feels cold.

Snoke halts in front of him. “I agree,” he says finally, deadly serious. “It _is_ none of her business. But she’ll make it her business. These dumb sluts always do.” Ben looks down, still panting, too shaken to even protest the slur. “She’ll make _our_ business her business,” Snoke continues. “If she _loves_ you-” his voice is withering “-then she’ll want to know.”

“She doesn’t love-” Ben cuts himself off suddenly, reluctant to say it out loud.

Snoke notices. His eyes narrow fractionally. “Ahhhh,” he says, drawn out, silky smooth. “I see.”

“She means nothing,” Ben mumbles. 

“Nothing,” repeats Snoke. He takes a step closer to Ben, ignoring the younger man’s tense posture. “My boy,” he says, suddenly kindly again. “Let’s say your girl is oblivious. Happy to live in the dark. _Loves_ you.” He looks at Ben ironically, letting the fantasy settle and become ridiculous. “Now, Ben,” he says chidingly. His cold eyes are kind. “You know you don’t deserve that. Surely you remember that much.” 

Ben stares back at him. 

“I know what you did-” Snoke chuckles “-or, didn’t do.” His smile fades and the hard glint comes back in his eyes. “Normal people can lead normal lives, young Solo. People like _you_ take what they can get.” 

\---

Ben walks all the way home from Snoke’s, feeling numb.

He dully climbs the steps to his apartment, finally feeling the ache in his legs. For once the voices are silent here. He looks around the room: the walls are gray. Bare. Sterile. Different. This is his home now.

He doesn’t deserve it, and he never has. That’s the problem.

Ben walks to his bedroom, strips off his clothes, and falls onto the mattress. How long ago was he lying here, content? The morning seems far away now, an unacceptable moment of weakness. Weak walls let in arrows. Weak minds are too busy dreaming to stay strong.

The sheets still smell like Rey; she’ll be coming here after work. Ben needs to gather himself before then, so he can enjoy this thing that he doesn’t deserve. But for now, he curls under the blankets and breathes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben Solo, everybody! 
> 
> I'm really proud of how this chapter came out, even though it doesn't have any Rey in it. I worked hard to make this version of Ben true to his own mental state (which is not great) and to the Ben in previous chapters that can be soft and sometimes silly with Rey. I also wanted to showcase Snoke and why Ben might still be talking to this man who WE all know is a piece of shit. Answer: Snoke plays Ben like a fiddle. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this bit of plot-setting! Thank you as always for the wonderful comments, kudos, and shares- they mean a lot! I should be posting in a week :)
> 
> EDIT: Hey guys, it's 3/31 and I've been in a quarantine funk and not finished the next chapter. I'm really sorry! But, fear not: I'm going to dedicate some quality time over the next few days to thinking about Ben, Rey, and all the filthy things they should do to each other. Love you all <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but what if they fucked in First Order?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this monster chapter! FYI I'm trying spaces between paragraphs so it's not as dense. See you at the bottom xox

Rey is all over the place on Friday. 

On one hand, Rey is extra energetic while teaching her small group. She ably glides around the classroom defusing small upsets with jokes and patient reminders. She has no problem running to make more copies of math packets, and can immediately tell that Aaliyah’s pink scribbles are supposed to be a cat. On the other hand, Rey straight up walks into a closed door because she’s looking down at her feet with an unfocused smile. She stares dreamily out the window a little more often than normal. She glares at the clock when it’s not even noon yet.

Phasma chooses to ignore Rey’s uneven behavior and drones math facts at the head of the classroom. Rey walks between the rows of her students’ desks, ostensibly making note of their math strategies. Actually, the slight aching cramp between her legs keeps reminding her in vivid bursts of what she did last night. Of _him_ , and how he felt: callused fingers on her thigh, a wolfish smile half-hidden by hair, one cut-off gasp. The memories throb like burning embers in her brain, refusing to cool beneath the ash. Probably because her inner voice keeps gusting: _Tonight! You’ll see him tonight!_

In fact- Rey’s breath catches from sheer happiness- _she’ll see him all weekend!_ She always works Friday and Saturday nights at First Order, and if she’s going to be in Brooklyn anyway... well, she might as well stay at his place between shifts. Back on Wednesday night at her place she’d shoved enough clothes into her backpack to last her through Sunday _just in case_ , carefully layering her work clothes and school dresses and chiding herself for hoping. Even now, there’s still a chance that he’ll kick her out at some point, or she’ll want to leave, or, who knows, the building burns down or something. Rey briefly tries to imagine Ben in her little room up in Washington Heights, but she quickly rejects that image; Ben is so firmly entrenched in his building, and anyway, it’s not much of an escapist fantasy if she’s not escaping her own life, is it? Defeats the purpose of Someone Else’s Place.

Rey circles to the rear of the classroom, sliding the backs of her fingers across one hot cheek. This morning in a fit of triumph she had texted Finn a string of eggplant emojis, to which he replied with praise hands and a demand for details. She sort of wants to scream to the world that she just had sex, but also guard the details of last night to the death. A small part of her is worried that she’ll jinx everything by talking about it out loud; whatever it is that she and Ben are building up in his apartment, it’s still a small seedling barely out of the dirt and she’ll guard the damn thing with her life.

Rey has never been in a formal relationship before, so she’s not actually sure how they start. The closest she came was with a line cook who worked at a restaurant down the block from the Millenium Diner. They met on the sidewalk while he was taking a cigarette break and regularly fucked for a few months after that. He had a good sense of humor and an endearing face, but it was mutually understood that neither of them had time for more than their current arrangement. Sometimes after sex he would talk a bit about his dreams of settling down in New Jersey with a yard and a dog and a wife, but Rey could tell she wasn’t part of that equation; no, those dreams would happen later, after her. To be fair, she didn’t feel comfortable telling him that she wanted a dog, too. And a home. And maybe... _maybe_...a husband. The line cook never prompted her to share her dreams, but then again he also never prodded her about her background; maybe that’s why they were paired up so long.

Rey has only known Ben since November, back when she first walked into First Order with only a resume and a determined smile. She’s never shared her hopes and dreams with him. She doesn’t know if he wants a yard and a dog. But the bruised part of her sees the bruised part in him and thinks maybe they have the same blood hiding under their skin. He feels like a mountain to climb. He feels like a sink to fix. He feels like the way his fingers did, when they parted her legs the last time in bed: intoxicatingly certain.

Rey is thinking about this, eyes glazed over in the direction of the wall, when Principal Holdo finds her. It’s a bit past two, the kids are in Music, and she’s got a sandwich halfway up to her lips. 

“Just who I wanted to see,” Holdo says easily, startling Rey out of her reverie. Rey glances down at the scattered exit tickets in front of her that she’s supposed to be grading. She makes an effort to seem like she’s only been spacing out for seconds rather than minutes.

“Hi,” Rey says, gathering her thoughts. “You...wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” says Holdo, looking around the classroom and confirming it’s empty. “Phasma’s at lunch, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” says Rey, back straightening automatically. She sets the sandwich down.

Holdo waves her hand dismissively as she closes the door behind her. “Amilyn, please. I should have corrected you earlier.”

“Ok...Amilyn.”

Holdo sits down in the tiny child’s chair across from Rey, who is similarly seated. The older woman grimaces down at the plastic seat. “I can’t believe I used to fit in this,” she says, and her purple hair shakes along with her head. She turns her gaze back to Rey appraisingly. “It’s important for our older and wiser selves to remember how we started out.”

Rey cocks her head to the side, not quite following.

Holdo straightens her shoulders and looks at Rey frankly. “How do you like it here, Rey?”

Rey’s mouth parts as she comes up to speed. “I- I love it here!” she scrambles to say. “The kids are amazing, I really appreciate how closely we work with the families. Teachers seem to care, the curriculum makes sense-” she trails off, swallowing. “...I mean, I really like it here.”

Holdo smiles slightly. “Good. I’m glad to hear that, Rey. The thing is, we like you too. _I_ like you.” Mixed elation and trepidation rise in Rey’s chest. Holdo continues: “We’ve started hiring for next school year, and there are several student-facing roles that will open up. Some are more junior, and some are standard teaching roles.” She leans in towards Rey. “We may potentially have room to keep you on.” 

Rey fights for air to reply; it’s hard when her mouth wants to drop open and grin at the same time.

“I would- I would _love_ to be considered.” she finally squeaks out. “I really think I’m a great fit for the school, and I think my relationship with the kids is strong, and-” she pauses “-and I’m willing to get whatever certification you may need for me to stay on.”

Holdo- Amilyn- smiles slightly in return. “We can talk about that piece a little further down the road. This isn’t a formal offer for a specific position yet- that will involve salary and certification discussions- but I wanted to see if you’d be open to the idea of sticking with us.”

Rey nods vigorously. “Yes. Definitely.”

“Good.” Amilyn says it briskly, setting her hands on her thighs. “Then I look forward to speaking further with you, Ms. Jakku.”

Holdo stands up and sweeps off towards the door like she hasn’t just lifted a massive weight of wondering off of Rey’s chest. As soon as the principal disappears out the door, Rey pounces on her phone. She pulls up her text thread with Finn and starts typing furiously.

<We are getting drinks at D’Qar ASAP>

<Because sex>

<And because I’m gonna get hired at school!!!!!>

Rey drops her phone to the table and hugs herself, a huge smile bursting over her face. Maybe, _finally_ , she’s on the right path. She searches herself for any trace of doubt, any wisp of Plutt’s nagging voice, but all is blissfully silent.

\---

Rey walks quickly to First Order a few hours later, thoughts whirling joyously through her brain. She stayed late at school so she could finish grading all her paperwork and not take it home- or, that is, not take it to Ben’s. She did text him to let him know, but didn’t hear back. That’s not surprising exactly, since they don’t really text, but it’s a little odd that he wouldn’t reply. Not odd enough to smush her mood, though.

Tonight Rey is working with Rose, Snap, and Connix, her favorite combination of the First Order crew. Rose is fun to work with, of course, but she’s also unflappable as the cashier and great at drawing out tips. Rey is less close with Snap and Connix, but she can appreciate how Snap moves like clockwork on final biscuit assembly, and Connix is always willing to run and restock supplies. Rey, meanwhile, mans the griddle and fryer.

“I think getting burned gave you a sixth sense for frying,” jokes Rose. There’s a lull in service so they’re wiping down tables up front, but everyone knows it’s going to pick up again around 10pm. Rey picks up and throws out a discarded napkin, looking down as she does so at the faint mottle of burns on her arm.

“It tingles,” she says solemnly, “when the chicken’s about to crisp up. It’s sympathetic magic.”

Rose snorts. “I wish I had some sympathetic magic. My wallet could fill up every time someone pays.”

Rey smiles, though her mind is half elsewhere. Ben hasn’t left his office so far, and Rey hasn’t knocked; as much as she likes this crew, she doesn’t need to drop any hints that she fucked their boss last night. The flip side to not seeing him is that anticipation is slowly building in her gut, buzzing pleasantly in her stomach. That energy is making her more chatty than usual.

“Hey,” she says, now, to Rose. “You know I...I may be getting a real job at my school next year?”

Rose blinks. In that second, Rey instinctively regrets opening up. Why would Rose care? Maybe she doesn’t even remember Rey’s exhausted confessional from months ago. Then the second passes and Rose grins with a squeal and raises her hand for a high five. Rey smiles back shyly and slaps her hand.

“That’s great!” Rose beams. She smirks and leans in. “You’re still going to work here, though, right?”

Rey opens her mouth, surprised. She hasn’t even _thought_ about that part, yet.

“Just kidding,” Rose says quickly. “You’d be crazy. I’d fire you. Or, you know, have tall, dark, and pissy do the firing.” She nods vaguely towards the back of the store. Rey barely stifles a laugh at the description of Ben.

As if summoned, their manager appears from the depths of the hallway. Rose swears quietly and mutters “ _every time,_ ” but Rey barely hears her because her stomach’s just flipped. Ben is indeed tall and dark, wearing his usual black jeans and black long sleeved button-up, and he does look pissed to see no staff members behind the counter. His eyes, black at this distance, snap out towards the tables and chairs where Rose and Rey stand. His gaze lingers a moment on Rey, then moves on to land on Rose.

“The cashier should be back here at all times,” he says waspishly.

“We were just-” Rey starts to say, pushed by a need to stay _normal this is normal_ …

“At. All. Times.” Ben rumbles.

“Yes, sir,” sighs Rose. “Sorry, sir.”

Ben nods briefly, and his eyes flick back over to Rey. Rey frowns a little, noticing his face seems a bit paler than normal...then he turns and heads back into the darkness.

“Talk about sixth sense,” mutters Rose, shaking her head. Rey nods vaguely but doesn’t reply, still unsettled by Ben’s strained expression. Is he upset that she didn’t come over earlier? Did something happen to him? Is he getting sick? 

Rose cuts through her thoughts with a friendly tug on her arm. Rey blinks and automatically starts walking with the cashier towards the counter. “Anyway,” says Rose. “Have I told you about Paige?”

Rey shakes her head, and that sets off a conversation that weaves through the rest of their shift. Apparently encouraged by the detail from Rey’s life, Rose starts telling her about her older sister, Paige. The two Ticos grew up in Houston but now live together in Crown Heights; they sound incredibly close, which gives Rey a faint pang of jealousy. The sisters both work in food service, and they’ve been developing a menu for a Vietnamese restaurant of their own. So far they’ve only done a couple of pop-ups, but Rose seems optimistic.

“Working here is good practice, you know?” says the cashier. “I don’t know if you’ve ever met Snoke- he’s the guy who got this all started? He’s fucking weird, but he _has_ built a successful chain. And tall, dark, and pissy?” Her voice lowers furtively. “He actually isn’t half-bad at making sure this all runs.”

Rey nods, frowning slightly at the mention of Snoke. “Do you know anything about Snoke?” she asks warily.

Rose shrugs. “He’s rich. He’s got a big-ass house on Prospect Park. That’s where the company party is; I was there last May and it’s all you can eat, all you can drink, everyone from all the stores all in one place.” She chuckles. “I, for one, would like my own big-ass house on the park.”

“Yeah,” Rey says faintly. She dumps another chicken in the fryer and fights the urge to find Ben for the hundredth time. He’s made a few quick appearances since chastising them earlier, but he doesn’t stay long and he doesn’t linger near Rey. She’s made some excuses to go to the back kitchen and dawdle, hoping he’ll show and maybe talk to her there, but no luck. Part of Rey wants to know if something is off, but a more urgent part of her just wants to see him again. She can feel herself hum like a plucked string every time he comes near; it’s tantalizing to have him in sight, yet so far.

_Later_ , Rey thinks to herself. She squeezes her thighs shut, body tingling. _Just wait until later._

\---

Around 4:30am, Rey has finished shutting down the front of the store. Rose hugged her goodbye soon after closing the register, and Connix followed closely behind. Now it’s just her, Snap, and Ben, and she _knows_ Ben is somewhere in the back kitchen. She knows because her whole heart leapt when his door opened 30 minutes ago, and then Snap went back there and was talking to someone. Rey’s body is vibrating with nerves and glee, knowing they’ll soon be alone. She fights down a grin and walks down the corridor slowly, passing by Snap as he grabs his bag off the hallway hooks.

“You sticking around?” he calls. He’s a friendly guy, and Rey usually likes making small talk with him. Right now, she’d prefer if the earth swallowed him up.

“Not much longer,” she says airily, stifling her ire. “See you tomorrow!”

Snap nods agreeably and exits the store, leaving Rey in First Order with one other person. She takes a deep breath, body prickling all over, and heads into the back. Ben is standing by one of the freezers, door open so he can assess the level of supplies. He’s tall and broad and Rey remembers so vividly now what he looks like under those clothes. She steals up from behind and wraps her arms around him, giving in to temptation. She can feel him straighten a bit in surprise; it’s the first time they’ve made contact all night.

“Miss Jakku,” he says dryly, not turning. “I believe we’re still at work.”

“I know,” says Rey, laying her cheek against his back and rubbing it against him. He feels warm.

“I’m almost done here,” he says, not moving.

“I’m not,” she replies. Her hands, loosely wrapped around his middle, drift south. She starts untucking his shirt from his pants. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

She can feel Ben take a deep, steadying breath. His grip on the freezer door tightens. “We’re at _work_ , Rey. I’m still your manager here.” The words are shaped like a reprimand, but Rey can hear a dark promise run through them. “What if someone comes back in?”

“That would be _most_ unfortunate.” Rey slides her hands over the bared skin of his stomach, sighing at the feel of him warm and hard and _hers_ under her fingertips. She wants more; she deftly unbuttons his jeans and slides his zipper down as he stands, unprotesting.

“You seem tense,” she teases, stealing a hand into his pants, palm sliding along the soft arch of his cock over his underwear. Ben lets out a soft moan and leans his weight back slightly against her. Encouraged, Rey kisses his spine and uses her other hand to pull his underwear down. His dick springs free, just starting to respond.

Ben abruptly lets go of the freezer door and it swings shut as he turns to face Rey, forcing her to let go and step back. His face is controlled, but his eyes are burning. He takes her by the chin, pulling her near.

“You want to do this here?” he asks, low, and suddenly he’s the one in control. It’s a valid question he’s asking. It’s stupid and reckless, what Rey is considering. The apartment is _right there_ above them. And yet...

“You said-” Rey swallows shallowly “-you said _everywhere.”_

Ben’s gaze darkens. “What do you mean?” he asks, though they both know damn well what she meant. Rey hesitates and his grip tightens. His voice snaps, commanding: “ _Tell_ me.”

Rey swallows again. She keeps looking at Ben but reaches out and takes his cock back in hand; she sees his nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath at her touch. “You said,” she says deliberately, heat blooming within her, “you’d thought about fucking me everywhere.”

“I did,” Ben rasps. “I have.” Standing this close to her manager, Rey notices his dark circles are more pronounced today, his expression a little more gaunt. It worried her before, but now it only makes him look hungrier, staring back down at her. His eyes start to half-lid at her touch.

Rey reaches out to unbutton his shirt with her free hand, but Ben catches it, brings it up to his lips to kiss.

“You want to be good?” he rumbles. 

“Yes.” Rey starts to move her hand on his shaft, staring at his full lips where they fall on her skin.

“Yes, what?” His gaze snaps up to meet hers, intense. Rey can feel his cock throbbing to life in her grip, his breath hot on her hand. “We’re still at work.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies, crotch clenching.

He bites one of her knuckles, dragging the skin. Kisses it. Pulls it down until it joins her other hand on his cock.

“Only this comes out, understand?” He bends forward to kiss her neck, then sucks it warmly.

“But-” Rey internally swoons at the feel of him on her neck, but she’s also pouting, the memory of his bare chest still warming her fingers. When she hesitates, Ben surprises her by biting down at her throat.

“Hey,” she complains, but it’s half a groan and her traitorous hand quickens on his cock. “I said no bruises where people can see!”

“You break my rules, I’ll break yours.” His voice sounds darkly amused, but the edges are ragged.

“Fine,” Rey concedes.

“Good,” he purrs. His voice goes deep and commanding. “Now strip.”

Rey’s breath catches. “But what if someone-”

“ _Most_ unfortunate,” Ben reminds her, pulling back to look at her.

As if in a dream, Rey drops her hands and pulls off her polo shirt first. It’s strange disrobing under the harsh bright lights of the kitchen, this place where she works, but strange in the way fucking a new partner is strange: it’s mostly exciting. She undoes her pants next and pulls them down. She can feel Ben’s hot gaze on her as she steps out of her shoes and out of her pants. It, and the air, cause goosebumps on her skin.

When she straightens, Ben is stroking himself and watching her, eyes ablaze; it turns her on, how much this is turning _him_ on. Rey watches his face while she unclips her bra from behind and lets it drop to the tiles. Her cunt feels pinched and moist under the thin slip of her underwear; the cotton sticks to her lips like a mask. 

Ben clears his throat gruffly. “All of it,” he rasps. Rey nods, not trusting herself to speak, and pulls the underwear down over her hips. She can’t help but shudder as the air fully embraces her. She is _bare_. She’s utterly naked under the lights, two feet away from the counter she regularly works at. Another two feet away from her manager. The sheer discrepancy makes her mind reel.

“Good,” Ben grunts, guttural in his need. His cock is obscenely stiff, jutting out red from his crisp black clothes. “Put both hands on the table.”

Rey inhales shakily, feeling exquisitely vulnerable. If this was anyone else, any boss of hers she’s ever had, she would be retching right now. But this is Ben. He’s had her and held her and carried her and he means her no harm, she knows it deep down in her bones. She _trusts_ him. And oh, she knows that she wants this, the wrongness of this- wants it right down from the sticky dark parts of her heart. 

Rey turns, plants her hands on the reflective steel table, and looks over her shoulder at him.

Ben moves slowly, drifting until he’s directly behind her. He stares at the rounded curves of her ass, the sweet curling dip of her spine. The arched bow of her shoulder blades, dark thatch of hair barely visible from behind the shadow of her legs. She can feel his eyes on her and it makes her pulse.

“Bend onto the table,” Ben grates. He hasn’t touched her yet, but he looks very nearly undone just by the sight of her naked in this place of all places. Rey willingly bends, but she hovers above the stainless steel, breasts dipping just shy of the surface.

“All the way,” Ben prods, and Rey senses him plant both his hands on either side of her body.

“It’s cold,” she complains, before she can stop herself.

Ben’s crotch presses to her ass, bent over the table, and Rey is flooded with a wash of heat from his body. Her breath catches.

“I’ll warm you up,” he says, low. He brings one hand to her upper back and presses down inexorably, so that her chest pushes flush against the stainless steel. Rey hisses at the chill, trying to rise again, but that huge hand easily keeps her in place.

“Is it cold, Rey?” he murmurs. His hand shifts a little against her shoulder blades, somewhat soothing.

“Yes,” she whines, still squirming against the metal.

“Let me see,” he says, and his other hand reaches under her chest. He lets her up just enough so there’s room to pinch at her nipple, which has puckered with cold. 

“Oh,” he breathes, and his crotch pulses warm against her ass. “Oh, you are cold.” He rubs the stiff nipple between his fingers, making Rey whimper. “Is the table too cold for you, Rey?”

“Y-yes,” Rey stammers. Ben drops her right nipple and reaches further underneath her to pinch at her left. She feels entirely cradled by him, caught between his body and the table and wrapped by his arm. Her cunt is throbbing, a hot center hiding from the chill of the steel.

“Do you need me to warm you up?” Ben asks. He takes his one hand off her back and reaches down between his legs instead, readjusting his cock so the long, hot length of it slots along her ass. When he’s pressed down the most, Rey can feel the ghost of his heat hovering right by her cunt. She moans at the sensation, unconsciously pushing herself back to meet him.

“Yes. Yes, please,” she says aloud. Her breathing is quick and strained.

“Yes what.” His voice is dark and he pinches her nipple.

“Yes- yes, sir,” Rey yelps. Her eyes close, and she feels the rhythm of his movements against her ass, matches them. Ben makes a rumbling noise of content deep in his throat and drops his torso so it presses down onto her back. He keeps one arm braced around her chest so he can toy with her nipples, and Rey moans at the crinkle of fabric against her bare skin; the contrast is _power_. Ben slides his other hand down between her legs, slipping through the divot of space between her hip and the table.

“You like this, Rey?” Ben’s voice is soothing and arousing at the same time. His fingertips probe at her lower lips, sliding along the swollen crack of her cunt. “It _feels_ like you like this.” Rey exhales with a soft cry and spreads her legs further, letting him in. Ben buries his middle finger to the second knuckle, and in the quiet of the kitchen they both hear it. The wet squelch makes her hiss and spread wider, sends another pulse of liquid out from her lips.

“ _Yes_.” Ben moans the word with such weight, such awe, that Rey hears herself as something magnificent. “Listen to that,” he continues, a reverent whisper. “You’ve been thinking about this all day?”

“ _Yes_ .” Rey presses back hard against his cock, craving more contact. He’s above her, below her, inside her, and it isn’t _enough._

“Yes, what?” His breath is hot in her ear.

“Yes, sir. Please, Ben, more-”

“Good girl,” he hums, and he pushes a second finger in. He holds her close, grinding against her. “Are you warmer now, Rey?”

Rey nods, whimpering.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Rey groans and nods more vigorously. Her crotch bucks onto the table, undoubtedly smearing the steel.

“Then put this condom on me.” Ben pulls out his fingers- Rey makes a frustrated sound- and lets go of her chest, pushing himself upright again. Rey dizzily follows suit and turns, legs shaking. Ben is waiting; he takes Rey’s hand and presses a condom into it- presumably from his pocket.

Rey takes it and almost forgets it, because their mouths collide like it’s been days and not hours since they last met. Ben holds her face in both hands like he can’t bear them to part while his tongue roots through her mouth. Rey blindly rips at the condom with both hands, finally getting it open. She pulls back long enough to gasp for air and start rolling the latex onto his ripe long cock; the sight of it pushing out of his jeans _maddens_ her. Ben’s hands are everywhere, sliding along her bare ribs, her hips, her back, her ass. As soon as the condom is on, his muscles ripple under his shirt and suddenly, easily, Rey is up in the air. She gasps and wraps her limbs around his torso, but he easily supports her weight. She stares into the blaze of Ben’s eyes while his hands move beneath her and then- _there_ it is- the hot slide of his cock enters her from below. Ben groans and Rey cries out high and loud, cunt clenching around the thick intrusion. Ben stumbles a few steps and Rey’s back slams against the closed freezer door. He uses it for support as he fucks into her, eyes shut tight and mouth panting; Rey arches her back away from the cold and towards him, nipples scraping against his crisp shirt, holding on for dear life.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks tightly, breath short and harsh as he moves. “Should I have done this before, with the staff working up front?”

Rey moans and squirms, blazing hot. “I can be quiet,” she says, delirious. “They won’t hear you fuck me, I’ll be good.”

“Prove it,” Ben growls, and he pumps up into her and watches her face. Rey bites her lip, a ripped cry vibrating her throat. She tries vainly to muffle her sounds, but he’s so good and so hard and so filling, she can’t keep them down. “Not quiet enough,” he chides, licking a stripe on her shoulder. “Try again.” He pumps and she wails. “ _Again.”_

Ben fucks her at a punishing pace, while Rey whimpers and tries to keep quiet, pleasure roiling her insides. It becomes even harder when the bastard pushes his fingers between them to rub at her clit. Rey leans back against the freezer and bites her wrist, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving, melting with sensation. Ben pins her in place with his cock, then pulls her wrist away with his free hand so her cries can echo out through the kitchen. He stops pumping and just circles her clit, eyes intent.

“Open your eyes, Rey.”

Rey makes an inarticulate sound, but complies shakily, looking back at him with a glazed expression. Her hair has fallen out of its buns and sticks wherever she’s sweating, wherever he’s licked or sucked her. Her manager looks utterly wrecked, eyes lost with lust. Ben stares at her like he’s trying to paint a picture.

“I want you to see this whenever you’re back here, from now on,” he says. He stirs his cock inside her for emphasis. “Me fucking you against this freezer, and you loving it.”

Rey’s walls clamp onto his dick and the pre-shudders of orgasm spike through her system. “Please, Ben,” she moans, “faster.”

Ben pulses up into her at the same time he speeds his fingers on her clit, and Rey shivers and comes with a cry. Ben resumes a slightly more lenient pace, taking advantage of the wet flush of warmth gliding over his cock.

And that’s when the door bells chime.

Ben freezes, dick halfway inside her; he has the presence of mind to slap a hand over Rey’s still-moaning mouth, though she’s far gone enough to lick at his palm before it sinks in: there are footsteps. Inside. There are footsteps _inside of First Order_. Rey’s noise dies in her throat and she clutches Ben’s arms. They stare into each other’s wide eyes, ears straining.

“Hello?” The voice- Snap?- sounds out from the front kitchen. “I left my phone charger, sorry.”

_Most_ unfortunate.

Ben’s nostrils flare and settle, whites showing in his eyes. He turns his face away from Rey and she sees him visibly collect himself. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t lock up,” he shouts, startling Rey even further. Her fingers claw into his biceps, frozen face silently screaming _are you fucking crazy?_ Ben glances back at her. Then, incredibly, so _stupidly_ , he moves his hips slightly and his cock finishes entering Rey. Her eyes half-lid automatically. A pulse half from nerves, half from pleasure, jumps in her. Ben pulls out slowly, then deliberately slides back in.

He _is_ crazy.

“Sorry,” Snap calls, his voice filtering vaguely through the sensation in Rey’s cunt. Ben slips his hand off of Rey’s mouth and reaches under her to grab her by the ass, hoist her a little more securely in place. His cheeks are still flushed, mouth parted, and the look in his eyes is entirely wicked. Rey tries to constrict her throat to keep any noises from coming out, and Ben watches her to see if she’ll succeed. The tiniest, most clipped-breath “ah!” strains out of Rey’s mouth, travelling only a few inches at most. And he’s there, breathing with her close enough to savor it; his eyes darken even more and he dips his cheek against hers, strains his lips towards her ear.

“Is that for me?” he whispers, light as a thought. “Does this feel good, Rey?”

Rey’s eyes squeeze shut hard enough to crinkle her forehead; she desperately tries to keep quiet but another “ah!” pops out of her throat, the barest rip of sound. Ben’s cock slides wetly back out, then in, pace slow but implacable.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom if that’s ok,” Snap calls out obliviously. A wave of despair floods through Rey, even through her pleasure; the staff bathroom is in the _corridor_. That’s halfway to the kitchen, just a few steps away from Rey and Ben and her impossibly distant pile of clothes.

“Fine,” calls Ben loudly, sounding bored. Then he turns back to Rey’s ear. “You’re giving me what I want,” he murmurs, sounding entirely different. “Sweet girl. Could I fuck you if he were watching?”

Rey bites her lip and nods vigorously, fighting the urge to writhe as arousal swoops powerfully through her cunt. She knows she doesn’t _really_ want Snap to catch them, but the thought is also perversely hot. It’s a fantasy right on the edge of reality, so easy to picture. She could _make_ it happen. It would just take one sound, one mistake.

“Say it, Rey.” Ben has sped up at her nod. They both hear the bathroom door close. “Say it in my ear like a good girl. So only I can hear.”

Rey forces her eyes open, breathing hard through her nose. She tilts her lips towards Ben’s ear, tries to master her trembling vocal cords, blurts out in a tiny voice: “Yes.” He pumps at the same time, so her voice comes out as a breathless whine. “Yes, sir.”

Ben groans low and strained in his throat; if she weren’t close enough to feel it, she wouldn’t have heard it. “Say it again.”

“Yes,” Rey says again, more heated this time. “Yes, you could do it. I’m yours.”

Ben pumps convulsively into her, abruptly burying his face in her neck. His grip, everything, tightens as he holds in a sound. Rey pushes herself down onto him and threads her fingers into his hair. She bites at his earlobe, taking back the reins of power and starting to feel herself come undone.

“Yours,” she mutters, hot through her teeth, “Yours to fuck, yours to soak, yours to have, yours, please, Ben-” His pace builds to a furious beat and she chokes off.

Ben pulls his face back and kisses her wildly, fucking her and mercifully swallowing the noises that Rey can’t help but make now. He’s _hers_ and she’s _his_ and they’re straining together. They’ve almost entirely forgotten about Snap when the bathroom door swings back open with an echoing creak. The sound almost magnetically repels their lips, and Rey and Ben are left staring into each other’s eyes, bodies locked in a twisted embrace. There’s something intensely raw and vulnerable in Ben’s expression, and it doesn’t have to do with Snap’s presence.

“I’m heading out!” Snap calls from the corridor. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

Ben swallows, brown eyes still searching Rey’s. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he calls, attempting his usual disdain. “Get out before people think we’re open.”

“Ok, ok,” Snap says, a little defensive. His footsteps head back the way they came, towards the front. Rey curls her fingers into Ben’s hair, still impaled on his cock but stranded with him in this moment of calm like the eye of the storm. The bell rings cheerfully as Snap exits, and they both wait for the noise of the door closing. Silence ensues.

In a tumult of movement, Ben lunges to kiss Rey at the same time she surges to meet him, desperately grinding her hips against his eager thrusts. Rey’s lips break from his long enough to let out her pent-up moan loud enough to rattle the hanging steel tongs.

“Oh you _liked_ that,” Ben says in a heated voice. “I _felt_ that you liked it.”

“Ben,” Rey whimpers, hands braced in his hair. “You fucking _asshole_.”

“Listen, Rey, listen to you,” he murmurs, ignoring the comment, readjusting her slightly in his arms. At the new angle he pulls back slowly, his dick slipping out wet, juiced, obscene. She hears her own slick as if water was paper, crinkling. “That’s all you,” he says, hot gaze worshipful, sliding back in. Back out again, eyes closed to listen. “All you.”

“You earned it,” Rey murmurs, and his eyes snap open. Rey brings a hand down to his mouth, runs her fingers over his kiss-swollen lips. Ben shifts back into a rhythm again, but he’s listening. Very much so.

“You made me this wet,” she says, and she pushes a finger into his mouth. He readily sucks it, tongue swirling, eyes fixed on her. “You- you’re so _good_ to me,” she says, trying the phrase on for size but feeling confident in her guess. And yes; his hips slam against hers at the words. His teeth close on her knuckle but the dull pain only mixes with pleasure. “You’re perfect,” Rey murmurs. She strains her other fingers down until they can touch his balls and fondle them as he moves. “I want you, Ben,” she breathes, “I need you, you’ve earned me, such a _good boy_ , Ben, perfect.”

Ben painfully moans from some jagged depth, and his hips stutter, coming with a tremor that shakes her own body. He turns his mouth from her hand and cries out with satisfaction, moving past the point of completion, hands possessively tracing her body. He staggers a little to the side and lowers her ass onto the counter next to the freezer, bracing himself, but he doesn’t let go. Even when he finally, reluctantly, slides out, he lingers over her, panting.

“Tell me again,” Ben says hoarsely. He looks up at her, face gaunt, and his dark hair is a mess and his mask is utterly gone. Rey finds herself almost scared to look in his eyes, but she opens her mouth to reply. 

“I-” 

A phrase flits through her mind but she traps it before it can vocalize. She breathes in deeply, lets warmth flood her face and her voice. “I’m yours, Ben.” Then she smirks and raises an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood. “Your _employee._ ”

Ben’s eyes search hers for a moment longer, then he exhales and pushes himself up from the counter, bringing his hands up to wipe the hair out of his face. Rey watches him, admiring her manager. Then, because she can, she asks: “Did you...have a bad day?”

Ben lets out a dry laugh, hands still covering his face. He drops them with a humorless half-smile.

“Was I obvious?”

“No,” she says gently. “But I could tell.”

Ben’s smile fades and his expression becomes solemn. “I bet you could,” he says simply. Then he sighs and looks around the mess of the kitchen. Rey gingerly sits up on the counter- her crotch is _quite_ sore from all the excitement.

“We didn’t even-” Rey nods helplessly at the full sink. “We didn’t even finish _closing_.”

Ben shakes his head dismissively. “Hang on,” he says, and he disappears around the corner into his office. Rey languidly looks around the kitchen, which is both exactly the same and unutterably changed. Where she’s sitting on the counter is actually where he set her down the night she got burned. Rey snorts with laughter, feeling comfortably loopy.

Ben reappears a couple minutes later looking a little tidier and with his black wool coat in his hands. He holds it out to her.

“I can’t leave my clothes here!” Rey protests even as she accepts it. She’s not in the mood to get dressed, but it does seem like adding insult to injury to their workplace.

“I’ll clean in the morning,” says Ben, waving a hand at the room. He yawns, and Rey pulls on his coat. She hops down off the counter and the cloth falls to mid-calf; it’s stiff and scratchy on her bare skin, but it smells like him.

Ben walks over to her and starts fastening the buttons over her chest. There’s a focused, warm look on his face that Rey couldn’t begin to describe.

“Ben?” she asks sweetly.

“Yes?” His gaze is intent on the buttons.

“Next time, lock the _fucking door_.”

He pauses, eyes flicking up to meet her gaze. “Next time?” 

Rey looks back steadily, and he faintly smirks.

“Ah.” His eyes flick back to the buttons. “Next time I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I *swear* I tried to make them have one simple dirty fuck in the store, but of course it turned into a massive endeavor with foreplay and dirty talk and feelings because that's how I roll! I hope you enjoyed! My guiltiest pleasure this chapter was putting Rey in Ben's coat because come on...who doesn't want to see Rey otherwise naked in Ben's oversized wool coat?
> 
> On a more serious note, I had a tough time writing this chapter. I found out I'm going to be working from my tiny apartment for several months, which is really depressing (though again, I'm lucky to still have a job and apartment!). I also re-read my entire fic and got really down on myself, wishing I could re-write the beginning and wondering if I'm just writing a worse version of other Reylo fics already out there. I really finished this chapter by reacquainting myself with my Rey and my Ben and falling back in love with them; the last bit with him buttoning the coat felt like a new touchstone for me. I'm excited to keep writing!
> 
> So anyway, thank you for all the kudos, comments, and shares, I really appreciate them! Also, tell me if you prefer this fic with spaces between paragraphs? It's starting to look a little dense to me, but I want to keep it consistent...


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date day!
> 
> aka COVID Quarantine Wish Fulfillment

Rey wakes up fuzzily to the sensation of Ben getting back into bed. She doesn’t bother making sense of that or even opening her mouth, just makes a vaguely disgruntled noise and turns towards him. A few seconds later his arm scoops under her and pulls her close. 

“Good morning,” he says, voice fond and low near her ear.

“‘Morning,” Rey mumbles. She snuggles her face against Ben’s warm bulk and settles again, content to drift off. Everything feels right in the world...

Then she sniffs, forehead wrinkling.

“You smell like Clorox,” she mutters, cracking one eye open.

Ben’s chest hitches with an amused huff of air. “The kitchen had to be cleaned up, remember?”

Rey opens her other eye. She’s still completely naked under the sheets, having shucked off Ben’s coat and collapsed into bed immediately after closing last night. Ben, on the other hand, is actually dressed and looks more awake than anyone should be having done what they did last night. This morning. Whatever.

“What time is it?” Rey groans. She rolls out of Ben’s embrace and rubs at her eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up to help?”

“It’s a bit after noon. You were asleep.”

She casts a grumpy look his way. “You should have followed my good example.”

Ben idly reaches out and slides his hand over her bare stomach. “The day crew would have loved that,” he says, smirking. “Sink full of dishes, women’s clothes on the floor…” his hand casually swoops lower “...suspicious stains on the counters.”

A blush heats Rey’s cheeks, but she can’t help but grin, just a little. She turns onto her side, mirroring Ben.

“We made a bit of a mess, didn’t we?” she says.

“Mmm, I believe most of the mess was _yours_ , Ms. Jakku,” he says lightly, tracing her hip. “Either way, we’re both lucky the only camera is outside the store.”

Rey’s face drains of color as quickly as it came. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she says, with feeling. She covers her face with a groan. “I didn’t even _think_ about that.”

“It’s my store,” Ben says with a shrug. Rey still has her face covered, though, so he pulls her hand to the side so they can make eye contact. “Rey, “ he says soothingly, “there aren’t any cameras inside the store, just one that points at the front door.” He kisses her hand. “Even if there were, I’m the only one who sees the footage, and I delete it every month. We shouldn’t do anything in the front area, but we wouldn’t anyway because of the window.” His eyes search her face. “Okay?”

Rey forces herself to calm down, to nod in agreement. “Okay,” she says, blowing out a long breath. “That just...would have been bad.”

Ben nods. Then the ghost of a smile passes over his lips. “Though, if you want us to record something for personal use…”

It works and Rey laughs. “Uh- _huh_ ,” she says dryly, pulling her hand back out of his grasp. She starts to sit up but immediately regrets it, a dozen aches springing to life with the sudden movement. “Owww,” she moans, gingerly lowering herself back down.

Ben’s face shifts from amusement to concern. “Are you ok?” he asks, brow creasing as he sits up on the bed. “Did I hurt you?” he adds, expression darkening with self-recrimination.

“No!” Rey says, surprised at his reaction. “Well. I mean, yes, I’m sore,” she adds. “But I’ll be fine.” Rey twists tentatively, feeling out the kinks. “I think that freezer did a number on my back.” 

“Lie on your stomach.”

Rey rolls over to comply, prompted by Ben’s commanding tone. Her manager scoots closer to her on the bed, and she feels his warm hand lightly land on her back. His fingertips trace along the sore areas that presumably indicate bruises; Rey’s eyes half-lid at the feathery sensation. 

“Wait here,” Ben murmurs, and Rey nods sleepily against the mattress. 

A few minutes later, he’s back on the bed and he puts something very _chilly_ onto her back. Rey yelps and her eyes snap open.

“Sorry,” Ben says. “It’s just Icy Hot.”

“Mostly icy,” quips Rey, but she settles back into place. Ben’s fingers return to her skin, but this time she’s prepared for the sting of the cream; he massages it over a particularly tender spot.

“I use it on my shoulders, and it usually helps,” Ben says, sounding a little distracted. His ministrations are gentle, and Rey wonders dreamily at the contradiction of such a large man doing delicate work with his hands. Especially when he’s the one whose brute strength but the bruises there in the first place.

“I’m surprised you get sore” Rey says drowsily. “I thought running was supposed to de-tense you.”

“Not physically.” Ben dabs under her shoulder blade. “At a certain age everything starts getting sore.”

Rey opens her eyes at that. “How old are you?” she asks, suddenly curious. She turns her head onto her ear so she can look back at him and evaluate. She knows Ben is older than her, but couldn’t guess by how much; his age seems to entirely depend on his mood.

Ben’s fingers pause on her back. Then he shrugs. “I’m 33,” he says. His eyes are intent on his work for another moment, then flicker over to meet her gaze. “Is that too old?”

Rey shakes her head, honestly not bothered. “I’m 23,” she says lazily. 

Ben grunts. “That’s about what I figured,” he says, withdrawing his fingers from her skin. He absently wipes his sticky fingers over the back of his neck. “You seemed a little too old for college.”

Rey snorts and pushes herself up from the mattress, feeling the Icy Hot cool on her skin. “I was never the right age for college,” she says with a wry smile. “I’ve never been.” She casts a look at the tube of cream in Ben’s hands, then reaches out for it. “Gimme that.”

Ben hands it to her, and Rey promptly uncaps it again. “Your turn,” she says. Ben opens his mouth, possibly to argue, but Rey cuts him off.

“Ben,” she says pointedly. “There’s a naked young lady in your bed telling you to take your shirt off. Take advantage.”

Ben closes his mouth at that. He obediently pulls off his t-shirt and stays facing Rey; she squeezes a gobbet of Icy Hot onto her fingertips and rubs it across his now-bare shoulders. Ben’s look of amusement fades into relief, and he drops his head with a quiet sigh, eyes closing. Rey’s eyes flick fondly to his face, then back to the dense tumble of muscle she’s working over.

“Why didn’t you go to college?” asks Ben, head still down, surprising her. Rey’s fingers slow their massage.

“Well,” she says, brow furrowing. “Nobody told me to go. And even if I _did_ go, I would have needed scholarships. I would have needed better grades for that.” She picks up the pace again. “I could have taken out loans, I guess, but that would be a lot of debt. I didn’t have anyone to bail me out, anywhere to stay if I couldn’t pay them back. It was-”

Rey suddenly sits back on her heels, dropping her hands. Emotions are unexpectedly churning her stomach; she’d thought she’d made her peace with all of this years ago.

“It was scary,” she finishes, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I guess I just chickened out.” When she glances up, she sees that Ben has raised his head again and is watching her intently. His lips twitch when they make eye contact.

“I know the feeling,” he says simply. He doesn’t elaborate, but Rey somehow believes him, and her mood subtly lifts. Then Ben breaks the moment by rolling his neck, shrugging his shoulders experimentally.

“Feels better,” he comments. “Thank you. What about you?”

“Better,” Rey affirms. Suddenly shy, she looks askance at Ben. “So. Would you want to...do something today?”

Ben stills, looking a little confused. His eyes flicker over her naked form, and Rey blushes.

“I mean,” she hastens to add, “would you maybe want to...spend the day together? Before work?” Her words speed up, racing against his inevitable refusal. Her fingers twist anxiously in her lap. “We could go for a walk, or to a park, or get a drink, or coffee-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Rey looks up at him.

“Yes.”

Then Ben purses his lips. “Only...we can’t do it here. Not Crown Heights.”

Rey considers, remembering how Ben wouldn’t kiss her that morning in the local park. Rose said just last night that she lives in Crown Heights; how many of their other co-workers live in the neighborhood? She doesn’t particularly want to see her students, either.

“Hm,” she says finally. Her eyes start to glow. “How do you feel about beaches?”

\---

A little over an hour later, Ben and Rey emerge from the Brighton Beach subway station, blinking at the sunlight like the night creatures they are. Since this is the closest Rey has been to a date in absolute ages, she’s wearing her flowing burnt orange teacher’s skirt, a white v-neck t-shirt tucked in, and a jean jacket over it all. She’s pulled half her hair back into a bun, letting the rest flow silkily down to her shoulders. Ben, in a shocking revelation, is wearing a dark blue sweater with his usual black jeans. He’d pinched Rey when she wouldn’t shut up about it.

“I do wear _some_ colors,” he’d said, mildly offended. She’d called him a liar, which promptly earned her a second pinch and the first kiss of the day.

It’s only in the high 50s, but in true NYC fashion every bar and restaurant has already opened up their outdoor seating if they have it and doorways if not. Ben and Rey wander down the street; seagulls are calling overhead and it’s breezier here than in Crown Heights, but the ocean is still out of sight. Rey scans the storefronts as they pass, not sure precisely what she’s looking for...until she sees it.

Rey stops walking and Ben pauses a few steps later. “Can we go there?” she asks, pointing at the bar across the way. D’Qar _looks_ like a hole in the wall, but this place, Takodana, is truly a dive. A few motorcycles are parked outside, and the neon sign in the window boasts Corona Light like it’s the most advanced fermentation product since sliced bread.

Rey looks at Ben. Ben shrugs.

Two minutes later, they walk into Takodana and are assaulted by the smell of wood floors that never _quite_ had the spilled beer scrubbed out of them. It’s dim inside despite the sunny day, and clumps of grizzled old men are laughing at each other’s old jokes. Ben surveys the space with comfortable resignation, but Rey only has eyes for the pool table stuffed in the back. She gasps at the happy discovery and makes a beeline for it, already rooting through her purse for quarters. Ben trails after her with a faint smile. 

“Do you play often?” he asks, catching up to her next to the table.

“Nope!” she says cheerfully. She grins up at him, quarters shining in her palm. “But I love playing. What about you?”

“I’ve played,” he says noncommittally. He walks over to the cues on the wall and picks one out, testing the heft and peering at it to make sure it isn’t warped. Rey grabs one at random.

“You,” she says imperiously, turning to him, “are going to be Colors. Solids. In honor of your sweater.” She smirks when Ben rolls his eyes. “And Solids are buying the first round of drinks.”

Ben casually catches her by the waist with his free hand and Rey moves in close to him, relishing the contact. “Does Stripes have any drink requests?” he asks, voice a pleasant rumble. His eyes are a warmer brown when he’s happy, Rey is convinced of it.

“Oh,” she says, a little breathlessly, looking up at him, “I usually triangulate cost by ABV by cool name. The most important factors, of course.”

“Of course,” he says. He squeezes her waist briefly and lets go, looking over to the bar. “Solids will take your request into account.”

“He’d better,” Rey huffs, wrinkling her nose at him. She watches Ben walk to the bar, trying to calm the butterflies that still flutter in her stomach just at the sight of him. It’s a little odd seeing her manager not in First Order, not in his apartment, and not in Crown Heights, but it’s kind of exciting, also; she can pretend that they’re just two normal people meeting up on a casual, uncomplicated date. She and Ben have spent lots of time together lately, but it’s certainly never been _un_ complicated.

Shaking her head lightly to clear her head, Rey turns to the business of setting up the balls on the table. When Ben returns a few minutes later- this bar is probably busy only in its wildest dreams- everything is lined up in a neat triangle at one end of the table.

“Drinks for both teams,” Ben declares, handing Rey a cold pint glass. Rey peers down at the dark liquid within.

“So, what did Solids decide on?”

“Brooklyn lager,” he says, “It’s wild that they even have that here. But…” Ben holds up one large pointer and then turns back to the bar. He takes a couple of shot glasses from the grimy bartender and heads back towards Rey where she watches incredulously.

“It’s like 2pm, you know that?” Rey’s eyebrows strain the confines of her face.

“ABV was one of the factors,” Ben points out unhelpfully, handing her the small damp glass. Rey stares at the contents, already smelling the fumes. She’s glad it isn’t clear, at least. The last time she did shots of tequila with Finn, Rey ended up in bed with the bartender, and the bartender at Takodana looks like he might conceivably have new lifeforms cultivating in his greasy beard.

“Rum?” she asks, a little pained.

“Rum,” Ben confirms. “The lager is chaser. Cheers.” He smiles at her and Rey can’t muster the will to be actually annoyed at him, so she clinks her glass against his and they down their shots together. Rey’s whole throat immediately tightens up and she grabs the lager off the pool table and chokes down a few good glugs before the burning abaits. Once she’s done swallowing, she’s gratified to see that Ben’s face is similarly pained as he downs his beer. 

“Paint thinner,” he says once he’s done, smacking his lips distastefully. He says it quietly, at least, so as not to offend the surrounding clientele.

Rey shakes her head, trying to clear the taste from her mouth. “Loser has to have another shot of that,” she says with feeling. Then she nods at Ben, all business. “You’re breaking, obviously. Get to it, Solids.”

Ben lines up his shot and powerfully shatters the neat triangle on the pool table, launching their first game. Rey quickly gathers that Ben has played pool more than just a few times, but then again he’s been allowed in bars for more years than she has. Solids is up four before Stripes sinks her first ball, but she does it with aplomb, launching a beautifully powerful straight shot across the table to drop her green-striped 14 into a corner pocket.

“Good,” Ben says, sounding impressed, and the honest praise rubs Rey like a hand against a cat.

“Stripes has _some_ moves, let the record show,” she jokes, walking around to the same side as Ben as she scouts her next shot. She leans against the edge of the table, frowning, eyes flitting between her options. Then she forgets to keep scouting because Ben steps close and his broad hand lands on the small of her back.

“You’d be better at this if you took shots off the banks at an angle,” he counsels.

“I suck at math,” Rey says tartly, purposefully not looking up at him.

Ben’s warm fingers swirl over her t-shirt, distracting her. “Can I show you a trick?”

Rey smirks at that. She looks up at him, elbows resting on the table’s edge. “By all means, Ben,” she says dryly. “Please show me a trick for managing these balls.” Her smirk widens. “Would it help if I swirled them around?"

Ben lets out a small bark of laughter, and his hand shifts to her hip and squeezes her there. “I think you already know that trick,” he says mildly, though his eyes are heated with last night’s memory. He creakily turns his attention back to the table. “Give me your cue for a minute.” 

Rey hands her stick to him and lifts herself upright. Ben, in turn, leans down onto the table. He’s pushed his sweater sleeves up, and Rey is entirely distracted by the lean cords of muscle roped along his bare forearms. There’s also something about the face he makes when he’s concentrating on something; his dark eyebrows lower, his eyes glint, and Rey can see all the fine lines of his face in profile, all drawn towards one point. She knows from experience how breathtaking it can be to have that focus on her; is it possible to be jealous of a pool ball?

Ben lines the cue up carefully. The blue-striped 10-ball is near the corner pocket, but his solid green 6 is neatly blocking its way. Rey can tell he’s aiming at the 10 and protests weakly: “Are you just trying to get the 6 in, too?” 

“No,” Ben murmurs, still intent. “I’m finding a way around.” He grows entirely still, and then his arm snaps forward, slamming the point of his stick just under the white cue ball. The cue ball _pops_ , leaping over its solid cousin and touching down on the other side, where it gently, smoothly, knocks the 10-ball into the corner pocket. Ben breaks into a satisfied smile and rises. He looks down at Rey and opens his mouth to say something- probably something smug- but Rey hooks her fingers into his sweater and stretches onto her toes so she can kiss him instead. It’s a short and sweet one, very unlike their usual unleashed energy, but Rey feels passionately about it for reasons she can’t quite name.

When she pulls away, Ben blinks at her, free arm hooked around her waist. “What was that for?” he asks quietly, as if he really wants to know and repeat it.

Rey retracts her claws from his chest and drops back down flat on her feet. “Pity kiss,” she says airily. “You sank a striped ball. Traitors have to take a shot.” 

Ben is a good loser, at least.

Over the course of their leisurely game, and the next one, Rey twists the rules so that Ben ends up taking several shots. He’s less ornery than she is, but he does manufacture a couple plausible reasons for her to take her penance at the bar. The bartender just seems amused at their frequent returns, and the other customers are evidently keeping count of their alcoholic “scores,” to judge from the laughter that arises when one of them trudges back to the bar. Rey doesn’t really mind the attention; she’s with Ben, and she’s quickly discovering that Ben doesn’t give a shit what other people think. It makes her bold.

It’s near the end of their third game; Ben won the first one easily, and Rey won the second one through some lucky shots and straightfaced cheating, so this result will decide who is the overall winner. Sludgy rock music blares from the speakers and Ben leans down to aim at the last solid ball left on the table. Rey feels pleasantly flushed from the bad rum and beer; she sits on the edge of the table next to him and runs her fingers through his hair, causing him to toss a harried glance over at her. 

“I’m trying to focus,” he warns, though he doesn’t actually sound annoyed.

“I know,” she says, scrubbing her fingers down at the base of his skull. “I’m just encouraging you.”

Ben’s eyes unfocus slightly at her deepened touch. Then he blinks and glares at her.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says flatly.

“Cheering you on?” Rey asks innocently. From her perch at his side, she lifts one foot daintily to stroke along the inside of his thigh.

“Yes,” he grits out. “That.”

“Oh.” Rey tilts her head to one side. She can hardly keep a straight face, but she lowers her foot and slides off of the table, back onto her feet. “Maybe I should take a guest shot, since you’re having trouble.” She tugs at his closest forearm and Ben bemusedly pulls that arm back, letting Rey duck beneath it and snuggle up under his chest.

“You’ll have to help me aim,” Rey murmurs, fitting herself more snugly than strictly necessary to the contours of Ben’s body. She bends beneath him, reaching with warm hands to join his on the cue. Ben shifts and accommodates her body, moving himself even closer, so his arms cage her arms and his thighs brace against hers. His skin feels like a burn where it touches her skin.

“We’ll do it together,” he says, and his voice is a little hazy with warmth and terrible rum. He reclasps his hands over hers, and when he moves the cue to make slight adjustments, Rey’s arms bend with his. She can feel him breathing with her, enveloping her, exhales heating her ear. Rey couldn’t say if her eyes are actually open when they take the shot, but she hears a crack and a thump, and when she looks up only the black 8-ball is left on the table.

“We did it!” she cheers, starting to stand. Ben rises with her but doesn’t yield any distance; he lets the cue drop onto the table and wraps his arms around her middle, burying his face against her neck. Rey sighs happily and reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. The 8-ball is near enough to her that she catches it easily in one hand and drops it into the closest pocket. It rattles as it runs along the tunnels, ending the game.

“Let’s close the tab,” rumbles Ben, laying a hot kiss on her skin.

“Mhmm,” Rey hums in agreement. She glances up just in time to see the grizzled occupants of the bar staring at the two of them, embracing by the pool table. Rey laughs, a little embarrassed, and taps her fingers against the side of Ben’s face to get his attention. He reluctantly pulls away, swinging his head moodily to the side so he can glare over his shoulder at the rest of the bar. The older men drop their eyes back to their drinks and slowly start talking to each other again, and Rey feels a delicious wriggle of...it’s so _stupid_ , so outdated...but she feels taken care of, and proud that Ben is tall and severe and protective and that he’s like that for _her._

She grins up at him. “Want another shot for the road?”

\---

When Rey and Ben pile out of the bar soon after, Rey is shocked to see that the sky is blue and the sun’s still bright, albeit lower, in the sky. “I thought we were in there for hours!” Rey complains, footing a little unsteady.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ben says, shaking his head. He’s also looking a bit flushed. “Do you want to go home?”

Rey almost says yes, in large part because she wants to get to call Ben’s apartment “home,” but her stomach audibly objects. “Food first, I think,” she says, scanning about them for any likely candidates. Pizza, maybe? A bagel? A trash bag of fried rice? Ben takes her hand and they start walking, looking into shop windows. It takes them a while to cover any distance, since Rey can’t stop pointing things out to Ben and Ben can’t keep his hands off of her whenever they’re not walking. Rey’s lips and cheeks are equally rosy before they’ve made it 3 blocks.

Finally, Ben stops by what looks like a deli. “This one,” he declares. 

Rey squints dubiously up at the sign, which is all in Cyrillic. “Uh, can you speak Russian?”

Ben shrugs. “No. _Nyet_.” 

Rey raises an eyebrow at him.

He sighs. “It’s a bodega, not the Motherland.”

“Okaaaay,” Rey says doubtfully. Ben already has the door open, and he leads them inside. 

The deli _does_ have a soft drinks and chips area, but the first thing that hits them is the large, framed portrait of Putin behind the counter and the choir of male Russian voices booming over the speakers. A vibrant Russian flag hangs like a banner on the back wall. Rey turns her head to look wide-eyed at Ben, but Ben’s lips just twitch and he strategically avoids her accusatory stare. He pulls them further in, where there’s a hot buffet.

“This is interesting,” he says, which is putting it mildly. Long metal trays of steaming food are splayed on top of each other like a bizarre jenga game, none of them individually labelled, but the occasional Cyrillic sticky note popping up from the mess. Rey can make out fish in one dish and potatoes in another, but besides that everything is ominously hidden in sauce.

“Have you ever had borscht?” Ben asks, obliviously grabbing a plastic container.

“ _Ben_ ,” Rey says, horrified. “We’re in the food industry, we’re supposed to know better than to eat from buffets!”

He shrugs. “It smells good.”

“Who the hell do you think cooked this mess,” Rey demands, looking around. “It looks like somebody ate half of a real buffet and then took a huge-”

In the nick of time, Rey notices the shopkeeper, a squat, weathered old woman wearing a head wrap and an apron over a flower-print dress. She’s standing directly behind Rey, and she has a new, steaming tray of food in her hands. Rey’s eyes go as wide as the pickled eggs floating in brine. Then her mouth shuts so fast her teeth click.

“It looks great,” Rey says in a suddenly hushed voice. “Really, really fantastic.”

The old woman gives Rey a meaningfully flat look and walks past her. She bends to place her tray on top of one of the older ones; Ben, who’s paused with a spoonful of bright purple borscht, raises his eyebrows at Rey behind the shopkeeper’s back, then shakes his head and dumps the spoonful into the container. Rey scowls and snatches a tupperware from the stack.

The food _does_ smell good, if you don’t pay too much attention to its appearance. Rey stuffs a container to the brim- making sure to take some of the fresh food the old woman just brought as penance- and Ben has a couple of his own. He’s in an unusually good mood, it seems; Rey has rarely seen her manager looking so cheerful even when he’s alone with her. She makes a mental note to get him drunk and out of the apartment more often.

Or maybe not, because he dumps the containers into Rey’s arms and asks her to pay.

“I can’t talk to her!” Rey whispers furiously. “I just said her food looks like shit, looks like literal shit!” 

“Is that what you were going to say?” asks Ben. He tsks. “I think you two need some closure. Oh, and ask her for bread.” Arms free, he fishes out his wallet and pulls out his credit card, swaying slightly.

“Ben, she looks like she still weeps for Stalin,” Rey hisses.

Ben lets out an undignified snort of laughter, quickly turning it into a cough. “You’re better with people,” he says hastily, handing her the card, then makes a beeline for the fridge near the front.

Rey growls low in her throat, glaring after him. But she _is_ hungry, and the food that’s right under her nose does smell great. Steeling herself, Rey turns on the spot and looks towards the register, where the old lady is waiting. Rey flashes her best, fakest smile. It dents off of the shopkeeper’s unimpressed face like x-rays off lead.

“Do you have bread?” she asks, hoping the woman speaks English and equally hoping that she only speaks Russian. The shopkeeper stares at her, and Rey swallows, smile fading into desperation. “Bread?” she tries again, miming a loaf. The old woman’s eyes flicker down at Rey’s hands, and then she creakily turns and stumps off towards the back.

Rey whips her head around to look back at Ben. He hovers near the snack-sized chips, looking altogether too flushed and amused. He flashes her a thumbs up and she shakes her head, glaring. Then the door creaks and Rey quickly turns back around to see the old woman returning with a steaming loaf. Rey’s mood lightens immediately, and her stomach growls in anticipation.

“Thank you,” she says, 100% sincere. The old woman nods brusquely and starts weighing the buffet food, shoving the containers into one big plastic bag along with a couple of silverware packs. The bread is rung up last, and Rey pulls out Ben’s card to pay, but the old woman has paused; Rey looks up at her weathered face. The shopkeeper is looking at Ben, who’s looming over the soft drinks with his back towards them. The old woman flicks her eyes from Ben to Rey, then back to Ben; she nods her head, once, approvingly, looking coolly back at Rey with grudging respect. Her facial expression is uncannily like Putin’s, hanging behind her. Rey, who is far too buzzed for any of this, just shrugs and brightens her smile.

A couple minutes later, Rey exits the odd little deli, meeting Ben on the sidewalk. “You owe me,” she growls, Russian choir music blaring briefly behind her as the shop door swings to a close. 

“I do?” says Ben, looking closely at her. “Ah. I do.” 

He reaches up to cradle her face and leans down to kiss her, lips and tongue soft and insistent against hers. Rey’s tension grudgingly melts, and her arms hang down loose with the bags in her hands, her focus entirely on this frustrating man and the things he can do with his mouth. It’s a long, hot minute before they break apart; Ben’s thumbs stroke her cheeks and Rey sighs out through her nose, looking up at him with resigned warmth.

“Don’t look now,” she says with a crooked smile, “but your number one fan is enjoying the show.”

Ben blinks and glances back over towards the deli. A few feet away, the old woman is polishing the inside window pane, grimly staring at the two of them. 

“Is she really my number one fan?” He sounds more fascinated than horrified.

“Yeah, she seems like someone who can really commit,” says Rey casually. “So I gave her my spot in line.”

Ben exhales sharply, amused. He looks back down at Rey for a moment, eyes crinkling at the corners a little as he takes in her disheveled appearance and breeze-blown hair. Then he drops his hands so he can take the shopping bags from her.

“Alright,” he says, begrudgingly, “Let’s go see this damn beach.”

\---

Rey gets borscht on her clean white t-shirt, of course, but she doesn’t care because Ben picked out some kind of soft cheese that tastes like dynamite on the brown bread. Especially with a dollop of Goo #2 on top.

“Is this fish?” he asks, chewing. “It tastes like fish.”

“But it’s shaped like a meatball,” Rey says, peering intently at a specimen speared on her fork.

“Small, fat fish,” Ben amends, swallowing.

Seagulls shriek overhead and in the near distance waves crash onto the shore. The sun is arcing down in the sky, but plenty of New Yorkers are still sprawled out on the beach, here for the sunshine and the change of pace. Some brave souls are even crashing into the cold April ocean beyond. At the moment, Rey and Ben are lounging on a bench on the boardwalk, their makeshift picnic rudely spread out between them. The wind starts to rattle their containers as they empty, but that’s just too bad, because both of them are ravenous. And not particularly cautious about what they put in their mouths, either; the rum’s made them brave in more ways than one.

“What’s your death row meal?” Rey asks, ripping off a hunk of the bread. They’re both starting to lose steam, but she’s never been one to waste food if it’s available.

“This...brown vegetable stuff,” Ben says offhand, peering at the dregs of one tupperware. “Goo #5, as you call it.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Don’t joke about food, it’s too important.” She grabs the last of the spreadable cheese off the bench and rephrases the question: “What would you want your last meal to be?”

Ben leans back against the bench; he looks more relaxed than Rey has ever seen him in public. His head comes to rest on the curl of the seatback, and he closes his eyes against the sun. For a long moment he doesn’t answer; it’s quiet except for the birds, hollow footsteps on the boardwalk, and Rey scraping cheese onto her bread. It almost seems like Ben is dozing off.

“Lasagna, probably,” he says finally. Not asleep after all.

“Really?” asks Rey, skeptical. “I’ve never been a big fan.”

“There’s a...version of it.” His voice is distant, unfocused. “Old-school Italian. It takes a long time to make. Hours.” A crease forms between his eyes and his voice drops so low, Rey leans in to hear it. “My...family made it on special occasions.”

Rey pauses, knife hovering over her bread; this is the first time Ben’s ever volunteered details about his upbringing. Her first instinct is to immediately pry for more details, gathering clues that might answer her questions about his spare room. However, she knows from her own experience that prying could shatter his unusually tranquil state. 

It’s a beautiful day. She opts to not to ruin the moment.

“Mine would be birthday cake,” Rey says, easing past his comment.

Ben opens his eyes and blinks, lolling his head towards her. “Any kind in particular?”

“No.” Rey looks down at her bread, still uneaten. She shrugs. “I just like birthdays. Everyone has to pay attention to you.” She laughs, meaning to sound lighthearted, but it comes out sounding a little too sad. Ben watches her, not saying anything. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing about her that she just thought about him. 

Apparently, he makes the same decision. Ben shifts and stands with a groan, letting stones go unturned. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching for her hands. Rey looks up and automatically sets her bread aside. Her manager pulls her up onto her feet, both of them rocking a little with the motion. She settles gratefully against his chest, taking comfort from the broad, solid warmth of him. 

“Do you want to go out to the water?” he asks, deep voice rumbling. “We still have time.”

Rey squints out at the blue depths in the distance. She can see people standing in the ocean, calling out to each other; maybe some of them are normal couples on uncomplicated dates. But that’s not quite what she and Ben are, is it?

“No,” she decides. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you all so much for your kind comments on the last chapter, both about it and about me! I wanted to be real about how I was feeling, and you all went above and beyond in making me feel supported. Reylos are the best people :)
> 
> For this chapter I had "Hunger" by Florence + The Machine on repeat...it caught the fluff mood perfectly! This chapter originally was going to have an angstier ending, and, you know, not have a bizarre Russian deli stopover (based on my own experience btw), but eventually I just gave in and let them be stupid fools in love. Also, am I the only one who finds it hot when someone's good at pool? If yes, TOO BAD, you just read like 5 pages of pool thirst.
> 
> I'm not big on the social media scene, but if you wanna connect on Twitter I'm there intermittently @Doorkeeper91. Stay safe everyone <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey + Ben + Poe + Finn + 1 tbsp of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mention of Ben accidentally hurting a woman (4th paragraph, skip at "she'd convinced him to stay the night" and pick up at the next paragraph)

Their subway car subtly rumbles and rattles as it speeds back towards Crown Heights. Ben and Rey sit next to each other on the hard plastic seats; she’s drowsing, head tucked against Ben’s broad shoulder. He glances down at her every so often, checking on the shiny brown top of her head to make sure it’s still there. Even though he’s as tired as she is- more tired, probably, since he woke up early to clean the kitchen- he wants to stay awake and savor the last moments of this break from his normal reality. He feels so at ease right now it’s disorienting, like he’s a boat that’s dropped from a hard wooden deck into the amorphous sea. It’s almost frightening how off of his regular patterns he is.

Ben doesn’t normally _do_ beach days. He doesn’t do dates. What Ben does every day is some small variation on the day before that, and the day before that. Work at First Order takes up most of his time. After that, there’s sleeping, running, and eating. An even smaller slice of his pie chart would be reading or watching TV. Anything beyond that is an exception, an aberration, to his normal schedule; it happens occasionally, but he proceeds with extreme caution.

When he _is_ going to go off the rails, Ben usually chooses to do so alone at a bar. At worst (best?) he just gets drunk, and at best (worst?) he gets laid. Ben has never tried too hard to pursue women; they tend to find him. At first it surprised him that anyone would go for his long, horsey face and absurdly large ears, but eventually he chalked it up to them being drunk. These bold women were likely to make eye contact with him, which, if he returned in a certain way, often led to conversation. Light conversation. No background questions, no stupid jokes. More business, really. Once their mutual purpose had been conveyed, Ben and his find would depart pretty quickly. Sometimes they made it back to her place, sometimes they only made it as far as the nearest blind alleyway. 

When Ben has had sex, in the times before Rey, it’s had all the appeal of porn vids: engaging at the time, immediately tiresome after the act. Shame and anger would burn in his gut as he pulled out, zipped up, slid out of their bedrooms and out of their lives. When he was younger and dumber, there’d been one woman he’d liked enough to trade numbers with. She’d been a bartender at his usual spot; her hair was black like his and she never asked uncomfortable questions. They met up four times in all, and the fourth time she’d convinced him to stay for the night. He’d fallen asleep with her in his arms, uneasy, but achingly optimistic. That was before he’d been running as much and his nightmares came often and more energetically. The bartender woke up to him thrashing and shook him awake. Ben had gasped, jolted upright, then grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the headboard. He still remembers the cheap plywood cracking in a spiderweb line behind her head; he’d stared at it while the bartender started to cry.

He didn’t go out to bars much, after that.

Now, Ben looks down at Rey’s sleeping face. He gently, _gently_ , reaches up with his left hand, smoothing a short path with his fingertips over her shining hair. When he’d first asked Rey to join him in bed, it had been a capitulation in a massive internal debate. Without even knowing if she’d say yes, he’d preemptively gone on a 12-mile run, thought about taking melatonin, _any_ thing to keep himself from repeating the mistakes of the past. Even with those precautions, Ben knew it was foolishness, selfishness, that had led him to ask her. Everything could go well for one night, or a dozen, and he’d still end up breaking her somehow.

Ben lets out a small, shaky breath, still tracing her hair. He’s not going to hurt her. He’s _not._

_But you’re not going to_ keep _her_ , a voice like Snoke’s sneers in his head.

Ben tilts his face to Rey’s hair, closing his eyes tightly. Her scent rises to his nose like sacred incense, quieting the voice. Rey is different somehow; he isn’t sure why. She walked into First Order months ago, beautiful even then, but abstractly. Something he could acknowledge and admire from a distance. Then she had asked for the job off the books like a grim poker player dropping her last stack of chips on the table, and maybe that’s what had caught him: her unspoken grit. She was intense and competent at her job, absorbed and withdrawn, much like him. It made him feel like maybe he understood her...until he didn’t. When Rose had first made Rey laugh he’d been standing nearby, and it stilled him. It wasn’t so much the laugh itself, though that was light and warm. It was more like the dark side of the moon had finally turned towards Earth, and instead of more cold, dry, dust there were flowers blooming across its surface. He felt like a man with a telescope, alone with that discovery, wondering how something impossible here on Earth could be true somewhere beyond it. The moon was just an old chunk of the Earth, after all; if flowers could grow in its dust, then why did he live in a desert?

Ben sighs, opening his eyes. His buzz is fading, and clearly the post day-drinking melancholy has crept in to take its place. With a last wistful surge of his beachy ease, Ben wishes that they could keep going along this train track, past Crown Heights, all the way up to Washington Heights. Staying at Rey’s apartment would complete the escape of today. Even Ben, with his carefully constructed mental walls, can acknowledge that he’s more comfortable when he’s not in his apartment. Rey’s presence changes the place considerably to the point where it’s bearable, but he doesn’t want to become dependent on that. If he could just pick up and move, he would, but, well...that can’t happen.

Rey stirs and Ben pulls his head back. 

“I’m buzzing,” she mumbles, patting vaguely at her jacket. Ben moves his hand so that she can groggily sit upright. Once she gets her phone out of her pocket, she frowns and reads through her texts. 

“Oh,” she says, straightening suddenly. “Finn is at D’Qar!”

“Where?”

“It’s a-” Rey yawns, the last vestiges of her short nap. “‘Scuse me.” She perks up again, turning to him. “It’s a bar kind of near First Order, kind of near school. It’s pretty good! Finn’s boyfriend works there so they’re probably hanging out.”

Ben nods. 

Rey glances at the time on her phone “I did say,” she says slowly, “I would meet up with him this weekend. And we do have some time before work…”

Ben’s mood sinks a bit lower; he’d been picturing the two of them back in his bed, napping together before their shift. “You can go,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll get ready for work.”

Rey peeks up at him. “Well, actually,” she says, eyes thoughtful, “I mean, maybe…” She pauses, then says the last sentence quickly: “Would you want to come?”

“Me?” It comes out loud and disbelieving. Rey’s face quickly shutters and she looks back down, picking at her phone case with her fingernails.

“No, you’re right, that was stupid,” she mumbles.

Ben automatically shakes his head in disagreement, but when he opens his mouth to reply, he doesn’t have anything to say yet. So he shuts his mouth and puts a hand on Rey’s leg while he thinks, forehead wrinkling slightly.

“I’m not,” he begins, more quietly this time. “Especially good with people.”

Rey searches his face, and evidently decides there’s some potential there. She puts her hand over his on her leg. 

“I’d like it if you came,” she says cautiously. A quick look of mischief flits over her face and she smirks slightly. “I can show you off.”

Ben snorts.

“I’m buzzed and bloated with Russian food. I wouldn’t call that attractive.”

“ _I_ would,” Rey tells him, smile widening. Ben’s lips twitch in an answering smile, and he squeezes her leg.

“I’ll come for one drink,” he says, finally. “Probably water.”

Rey grins at him, then, and that’s almost worth it.

\---

Rey is both excited and extremely nervous walking into D’Qar. She had originally planned to dish about her now-existent sex life with Finn the next time they met, but now instead she has Exhibit A on hand to demonstrate said sex life. She’s nervous because while she loves Finn and...likes Ben, enjoys his company, whatever….she can’t imagine the two of them mingling socially. Mostly because she can’t picture Ben mingling socially at all outside of the context of managing.

He still seems leery, hanging back behind her as they walk into the space. 

“Maybe they’re not here,” he says, somewhat hopefully.

“REY!” comes a shout from the bar. There goes that theory.

Rey looks over and sees Finn getting up off a stool, beaming at her. Behind him, and behind the bar, Poe throws her a quick wave before getting back to mixing a cocktail; the seats are filling up fast as people start to kick off their Saturday nights.

Rey spares a moment to flash Ben a quick- hopefully encouraging- smile, then hurries over to Finn. He immediately swoops her up into a hug and she squeezes back tightly, finding that she’s genuinely missed him. 

“Peanut,” he says, grinning easily as he sets her down. “Long time, no see.” He pulls back and squints down at her shirt. “You’ve got something purple on you.”

“It’s called borscht, apparently,” Rey says, rolling her eyes. She turns and looks over her shoulder; Ben is standing and looking up at the inlaid ceiling like it’s fascinating to him.

“Finn, this is Ben,” she says, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. “Ben, this is my best friend Finn.”

Finn looks ready to shake hands, but Ben, hands wedged deep in his pockets, just looks levelly at him and nods a hello before Finn can reach out. He’s got his manager mask back on; Rey can tell it’s not as airtight as it normally is, but it’s still not inviting. Finn’s smile at Ben becomes a bit stiff at the edges.

“Let’s grab those seats,” Rey says quickly, taking Ben by the arm and giving it a small tug. 

“Sure!” says Finn brightly, and while he turns to sit back down, Rey shoots Ben a swift, pleading look. He works his jaw for a moment, then takes a seat two stools over from Finn, so that Rey can be between them.

“What have you guys been up to today?” Finn says, falling into an easy conversation with Rey. “It was beautiful out.”

“We went to Brighton Beach,” Rey explains. “Got some drinks, played some pool.” She looks ruefully down at her shirt. “Got some soup on myself.” She looks back up at Finn. “How are the younglings?”

Finn shrugs. “Still can’t wash a pot, but what’re you gonna do. Poe and I were at his apartment today, though. You’ve _got_ ta meet his cat, Rey, he’s the fattest thing I’ve ever seen waddle on four legs…”

“I’ll have you know that BeeBee _zoomed_ as a kitten,” calls Poe, walking towards them. He drops a glass in the sink and leans on the counter across from them. 

“Hiya Rey,” he says, smiling at her. He snaps his fingers like he’s just remembered something, then points at her. “I have just the thing for you.”

“Is it rum?” Rey protests, “Because if it is, we have had _far_ too much already.”

“No, champagne!” Poe asserts. He bends down and roots around in the fridge for a moment, then stands up with a tall, chilled bottle. “I hear congratulations are in order!” He shoots a quick smirk at Rey. “On, uh, a couple of fronts. But this is for the new job!”

“The new job?”

Ben’s voice is deep and unexpected, and all three of them turn to look at him. Even with his facade up, he looks unsettled, frowning slightly at Rey.

“Oh,” says Rey blushing, putting her hand on his forearm. “I didn’t tell you. It’s not _officially_ a new job, yet, but they want to hire me on at school as full-time staff next year.”

Ben looks at her and tilts his head slightly, like she’s a puzzle he’s figuring out.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Congratulations.”

Rey feels a warm flush of guilt, though she can’t pinpoint why. Ben’s harder to read when he has his mask up, so she can only tell that he _is_ disturbed about something. That she didn’t tell him before? That she’s getting a new job? Rey flashes back to Rose’s reaction to her good news: _You’re still going to work here, though, right?_ she’d joked. _Just kidding. You’d be crazy._

Oh. Maybe he thinks...

“Thank you,” Rey says to Ben, keeping her tone light. She reaches out below the bar and puts her hand on his knee. “This way, when I come over, I won’t smell like grease.” 

She catches his eyes with her own and tries to send her subtext through their connection: _I’ll still want to see you even if we don’t work together._ Ben’s gaze flickers and she thinks, she _thinks_ , that she sees a small slice of relief.

Poe clears his throat.

“Sorry to steal your thunder,” he says, breaking the moment. “But anyway! Drinks!” He’s poured the champagne into four flutes and now he slides them over the counter towards them.

“A toast!” calls Finn. He turns in his seat towards Rey. “To Rey!”

Rey blushes at the attention but raises her glass slightly. Poe and FInn follow suit.

“To Rey,” Ben echoes, and his gaze on her makes her turn redder as she sips her champagne.

**\---**

If asked, Rey would say there’s no particular reason why she didn’t tell Ben about the promotion. It’s true that there isn’t one particular reason, but there are a thousand small ones that have built up over the years. Speaking up hasn’t worked out very well for Rey, historically.

When she was seven, she told her parents that she was hungry. They told her to be quiet and kept on doing the sitting and staring thing they often did on the couch. Eventually, half a week later, Rey snuck out of the house and went looking for food. Her neighbors called CPS, reporting a grimy, half-starved child eating handfuls of their herb garden. When CPS took her away, Rey remembered it was her fault for not listening.

When she was eight, she told her fosters- never foster _parents_ \- that she didn’t want to go. They lived in a house outside of Albany and she liked the tall thick trees and the quick running creek. Her fosters kept talking as if she hadn’t spoken, saying she’d have a new better home in the city, that they were too old for a child after all. When she got in the car three days later, and watched the trees and the creek disappear, she remembered it was her fault for being a child.

When she was eleven, she told her teacher that she didn’t understand multiplication. Her young, pretty teacher- she would make a lovely mother- had looked disappointed at that. It became clear that Rey was far below grade level, and they took her out of that warm, colorful classroom and put her in a basement with an odd-smelling man who spoke at his students like they were idiots. When she painfully scratched out remedial math in that windowless basement, she remembered it was her fault for being stupid.

Ten years later, when Rey was twenty one, she told the line cook that she loved him while they were fucking. His rhythm stuttered and hesitation changed his face and she backtracked, panicked. He put his hand over her mouth and closed his eyes, grimly continuing to move towards completion. Afterwards, he said their thing had been fun but since he had another girl he was getting serious with, shouldn’t she see other people? It would be a waste otherwise, he’d said, squeezing her carelessly. When Rey kept her face down, rearranging her feelings until they fit the small, tight box she’d been given, she remembered it was her fault for not being lovable. 

So, no, Rey doesn’t often speak up. Being quiet and cagey is lonely sometimes, but it’s also what keeps her safe from rejection. She shared her good news with Finn because she’s convinced that he’s goodness embodied, and with Rose, because it was a low emotional risk. But when it comes to someone she’s scared of losing...no, she isn’t ready to open up that far with Ben.

\---

Ben heads to the bathroom, eventually. 

“So that’s the guy?” Finn asks immediately, lowering his voice to a whisper. He springs the question on her like he’s been waiting all night...which he probably has been.

Rey bites her lip and nods, a blush heating her cheeks. Poe leans in over the counter towards them.

“Just from an academic perspective, you understand,” the bartender says, “you know, just for science…” He leans even closer, eyes gleaming. “Is he, uh, proportional?”

Rey’s blush intensifies. A strange feeling of pride rises with it.

“Yep,” she says, sipping her drink.

Poe and Finn both turn their heads to look after Ben, eyes glazed. None of them say anything for a hushed moment.

“Wow,” Poe says finally, reverent.

“Thanks,” Finn says vaguely.

Poe pats distractedly at Finn’s hand on the bar. “You’ve got other assets, my dear.”

“Ben _does_ have more than a monster dick,” chides Rey.

“He does?” Finn snaps out of his fugue and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “To be honest, Rey...whatever it is, it’s not really his personality.”

“He’s not a people person,” she says quickly.

“I can tell,” Poe says with a huff.

Rey’s face falls. “You guys don’t like him?”

Finn sighs and looks over at Poe, then back at Rey. “I mean, maybe he grows on you,” Finn says, giving her a rueful half-smile. “He reminds me of you, the first time I convinced you to hang out after work at the Diner. Very...at arm’s length. But,” he continues on a more positive note, “he is following the conversation, at least. And he definitely likes you, Rey.”

She does smile at that. “You think so?”

Poe snorts. “Oh yeah,” he asserts. “He’s literally just watched you talk for the last 30 minutes. He’s into you.”

“Yeah,” Rey says shyly. “I guess that he is.”

Finn looks at her closely. “Do _you_ like him?”

Rey nods.

“Ok,” Finn nods. He looks at her askance. “Do you maybe like him more than just that?”

Rey blushes hard and immediately gets pissed at herself for blushing hard. She had sex in First Order last night, for Christ’s sake, she’s no innocent maiden.

“He’s funny,” she says firmly, clearing her throat, “when he wants to be. And thoughtful, and I feel like we’re on the same page.” She looks down at her empty champagne flute, frowning. “He still feels like a weird broken sink sometimes,” she says more quietly, glancing at Finn. “But I feel he’s figuring me out, too. Like _I’m_ the broken sink. Does that make sense?”

Finn laughs and props his face in his hand. “Not exactly, Peanut, but if it’s enough for you it’s enough for me.”

\---

By the time Ben and Rey leave D’Qar, their dying rum buzz has been resurrected by more than one glass of champagne.

“We’re sleeping in tomorrow,” Rey mutters to him. “ _Both_ of us, this time.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Ben says, sounding more tired than drunk. He’d talked very little while they were with Finn and Poe, but he _had_ stayed for more than one drink, which Rey takes as a positive sign. Now they’re a few blocks from First Order, and Ben pulls her aside near a blank brick wall.

“You wait here for 10 minutes, ok?” he asks, looking down at her. “I’m going to go up to the apartment and change, but I’ll leave the doors propped so that you can go up after me.”

Rey slides her hands over his sweater, reality starting to crash back in. “Ok,” she says faintly. Then: “I’m glad that you came to D’Qar.”

“It was fine,” Ben says, and that’s pretty high praise coming from him.

“I owe you,” Rey adds, not letting go of his sweater.

“Maybe,” Ben rumbles, and he plants his hands on either side of her and leans down so their faces are within kissing distance. His brown eyes flit over her face and her figure, standing so close to his. “It’s going to be hard tonight,” he says bluntly, gaze warm.

Rey knows what he means. Normal people don’t have to work after a date day; they’re supposed to just go home and cuddle or fuck and have dinner, not worry about orders of chicken and biscuits. 

“Well,” she says, raising her chin slightly. “Since you were _good-”_ she twists her fingers in the fabric of his sweater “-maybe you’ve earned a favor from me. Something you can collect during our shift.”

“Hm.” Ben’s eyes glint. “At any time?”

“Any time.”

Ben leans forward as if to kiss her, but Rey grins and turns her head to the side, dodging him. “No kissing,” she adds, “Nothing obvious while we’re working.”

Ben keeps moving until his lips hover by her ear, breath warm. “It’s a deal.”   
  


\---

It’s not the hardest thing Rey has ever done, but it is _hard_ to get into a working mindset tonight. She’s never actually come to work tipsy before, but she resolves to use this mental and physical lightness to float through the shift. Rose is also working tonight, and she immediately picks up on Rey’s unusually flippant mood.

“Excuse me, Rey,” says the cashier with raised eyebrows, “I’m going to need you to walk a straight line from here to the oven.”

“No can do, Rose,” Rey says cheerfully, shooting her a grin. “I have neither the ability nor the inclination.”

Rose laughs. “Did you bring any of it with you? I could use some of whatever you’ve had.”

“Nope.” Rey drops some chicken into the fryer- she did check _very_ carefully to make sure it’s fully defrosted. “I’m just high on life today.”

Rose shakes her head goodnaturedly and leans against the counter; nobody’s placing an order at the moment. “What have you been up to?” she asks.

Rey is in a good enough mood that she doesn’t even hesitate. “I went on a date,” she says casually.

Rose perks up immediately. “Oh yeah?” she asks avidly. “Who’s the lucky guy? Girl? Being?”

Ben comes out from the back, store phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder. He walks over to the bags of delivery orders at the far end of the counter and starts rifling through them, apparently confirming something for a customer on the line. Rose stiffens and looks ready to drop the conversation, but Rey feels a mischievous spark in her belly and keeps going.

“It was a date with a guy,” Rey tells Rose, a smile ghosting about her lips. “I beat his ass at pool.”

Rose laughs, and Ben keeps rifling. “What do you think, is he second date material?” the cashier asks.

“I think so,” says Rey, studiously avoiding looking at her manager. “He sucks at pool, but he’s a good sport. He can _sort of_ hold his liquor. And he’s _moderately_ good looking.” A grin splits her face. “He’s shorter than me, though.”

Ben coughs. Rey’s eyes flit over towards him, where it seems he’s found what he’s looking for. He straightens and turns, and for a split second his eyes meet Rey’s and he shoots her a glare that is just enough warmer than usual that Rey knows he’s been listening. He hasn’t called in his favor yet, and Rey’s insides quiver knowing he’ll probably make her pay for her barefaced lies.

“It’s not out for delivery yet…” he starts saying into the phone, and the moment passes. Ben sweeps back out of the kitchen and down the corridor. 

\---

An hour later, Rey is going for a chicken refill in the back kitchen. It’s the first time she’s taken a break from the front, and she feels unconscious relief at the quiet moment to herself.

“Rey.”

Ben’s voice calls out sternly from his office, breaking the moment. Rey freezes and looks over; through the open door she can see him sitting dark and imperious at his desk. Her cheeks feel overheated, but she tries to walk normally towards him.

“Yes?” she asks, aiming for a light tone in case anyone’s listening.

“We need to have a word.” He leans back in his leather chair and steeples his fingers. “Come inside, close the door.”

Rey nods, not trusting herself to speak; she can guess what’s coming. She walks into the office, sparks firing in her belly. The door swings shut behind her.

“Lock it,” Ben says, much more quietly. And with much less control.

Rey quickly looks at the doorknob and sees it has a button, presumably for locking. She pushes it in with a click.

“I can’t stay long,” she says softly, voice trembling.

“I know. Come here.” The official tone disappears from Ben’s voice and it’s all rough longing instead. He swivels his chair to the side and she walks swiftly over to him.

“Sit with me,” he says, reaching up to her. “I’m calling in my favor.” 

Rey turns and sits on his lap, insides quivering. She leans back against his chest and Ben wraps his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her neck.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, words muffled. “Little liar.”

“I’m not even _gone_ ,” Rey says, smirking. She reaches back with one hand to thread through his hair, and she shifts her ass in his lap to settle in deeply.

“I know.” Ben slides both his broad palms down onto her thighs and holds them down, rubbing. “I won’t kiss you or bite you or fuck you, I just want to touch you.”

Rey’s breath catches; merely being touched sends liquid heat spiraling down through her veins and directly into her cunt. She breathes out again, unsteady, and turns her face so she can rub it against his own. Ben raises his head slightly to accommodate and they nuzzle against the flushed warmth of each other’s cheeks, skin slipping on skin. It’s difficult not to turn it into a kiss, but the scratch of his end-of-day stubble is a new and delicious sensation. Rey’s eyes hood involuntarily.

“I should go in a couple of minutes,” she whispers guiltily, after a long moment of shared silence.

“I know.” Ben pulls his head back and looks at her, eyes warm and wanting. “Touch yourself, first.”

Rey’s eyes widen at the same time her cunt pulses. “In 2 minutes??”

Ben shakes his head fuzzily. “Just put your fingers inside.” He leans his lips to her ear. “Please.”

Rey hurriedly unbuttons her jeans and leans back further against him, knowing this is stupid but also feeling a burning, reckless excitement. She shoves a hand down her pants and feels herself, wet from the unexpected attention. She hooks her middle finger into herself and sighs at the warm slipping sensation. Ben’s hands squeeze her thighs, and she feels his lap stiffen beneath her.

“Feed it to me,” he murmurs.

Rey inhales sharply and turns her head to look at him, but he’s all fire and need and not a shred of doubt. Rey pulls her finger out of herself and raises it to his lips; her manager greedily sucks in the digit down to her hand, eyes closing. He quietly moans in his chest, while his tongue slides over her finger. When Rey pulls her finger free, wet, he opens his eyes and just says “Again.”

Rey dips her fingers into her cunt three times, and feeds it to Ben like her slick is the sweetest honey. After the third time he sighs and lets go of her thighs. “You should go,” he says hoarsely. “Or I’m not going to make it through the shift.” From the state of his lap, that’s not an understatement.

“I’ll see you later,” Rey promises. She’s flushed and fuzz-brained from the contact between them.

“Of course,” he murmurs. “We _are_ at work.” Ben inhales against her hair, one more lingering moment, then lets go of her thighs. Rey stands unsteadily. She quickly zips up her fly and buttons the top button, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She pulls at the sleeves of her polo, once on her ponytail to straighten it, and readjusts her First Order cap.

“How do I look?” She turns towards Ben, putting on a brave professional face.

Ben looks up at her from his chair, and his mouth twists to the side in a smile that’s entirely too wistful.

“Perfect,” he says quietly.

Rey laughs in surprise. 

“That rum ought to be poured out,” she says wryly, shaking her head. She shoots him one last dubiously amused look, then leaves his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone for your awesome response to last chapter! You all are the best, I love reading through your comments and appreciate all the kudos and shares <3
> 
> Secondly, this week I wrote a Reylo oneshot based on a prompt. Ben drunkenly gets a tattoo from his ex, Rey, after Han's funeral, which sounds heavy but fear not! It's implied HEA. [You can read it here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719324)
> 
> Thirdly, the talented @curiousniffin made a gorgeous moodboard for us! [Check it out](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EVLOhMiUEAAamSg?format=png&name=900x900)
> 
> And finally, this chapter was more of a bridge, so tougher to write...everything in it is stuff I wanted to include, but I apologize if it comes off uneven. Mostly I want to make a point of how Ben and Rey are much more similar than they might realize, even though they've taken different emotional paths to deal with their respective issues. I've already written a big chunk of the next chapter, and in general I'm thrilled because I have the last 3 chapters of this fic all planned out and how we're getting there. It's probably gonna be 25-30 chapters in all, so now it's just a question of how much smut to fit in ;)
> 
> Stay safe and sane <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out, damned spot!

The tip of Rey’s tongue slips over the bow of her lips, not that anyone can see it. Her eyes are shut tightly, but the rest of her body feels loose and liquid. She swims her hips with a sigh, retracting her tongue, readjusting her grip on the headboard. Then Ben does something particularly clever with his lips, and she can’t help but gasp.

It’s Thursday afternoon, and Ben’s face is buried somewhere under her cunt.

“That feels good, Ben,” Rey moans, rocking her hips against him. “Feels amazing.”

Ben’s free hand slides warmly over her bare ass, giving her a squeeze to let her know that he’s listening. He’s been relatively quiet ever since she sat on his face, understandably. His tongue is occupied, drawn to a point and obsessively tickling the bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. All she can hear over her own labored breathing is the occasional smack of his lips and the wet clicking squelch of his fingers crooking inside of her. Twin jets of hot air steam out from his nostrils, pressed into her pubic hair. The air around Rey feels impossibly cold in comparison; she shivers, upper body pebbling with goosebumps.

“Can I-can I move more?” Rey asks. Her voice comes out breathless, but there’s nothing weak about the need that’s been building within her. She doesn’t want to completely smother him, but all of her instincts are screaming for increased friction.

Ben hums his assent against her lips; the buzz of it sends a shuddering ripple up Rey’s whole spine. She drops her hands down from the headboard. Eyes still shut, she gropes until her fingers curl deeply into Ben’s hair, greedily pulling his face up from the pillow and deeper into herself. His fingers speed up.

“More, please,” she pants, voice rising, “More, Ben, more, please-”

Rey fucks herself down onto Ben’s fingers and face, and he groans against her again, vibrating that most sensitive zone. Rey moans and holds onto his head with an iron grip, hips bucking against him. She feels hot and unwound as she moves, smearing herself on his face, marking him. She’s chasing her high and she hopes he can breathe but dear god if he just doesn’t stop then she’ll get there, she’s so close to there…

“Take out your fingers,” she gasps, and he wetly slips them both out. Free from that constraint, Rey unabashedly fucks herself hard against his lips, his chin, his nose, using pressure alone to get her where she needs to be. He said he wanted this, didn’t he? Half an hour ago, when she’d just gotten home from work and they’d wound up in bed on top of each other. He wanted to try this, wanted this river of slick all over his face...

A thunder of firing nerves rushes through her.

“Ben,” Rey yelps, throwing her head back. Her thighs freeze in place, crushing his head, while the rest of her body shudders. She instinctively grinds herself down over him, wanting to spread, to devour, to cover...she feels her lips contracting in time with her heart as she orgasms, and Ben’s slippery tongue darting between her folds. He grabs her ass from behind with both hands and buries his face more deeply against her, kissing her there like he’d kiss her mouth. Rey must be making absurd noises, but all she can do is hold on to his hair as these _feelings_ unspool within and without her. Ben’s hands on her thighs are the only thing keeping her steady.

Then the ripples through her begin to slow. Rey starts to come down, and she dimly feels Ben pressing one, two, quick kisses against her cunt. She rests her sweaty forehead against the wood headboard. Her limbs feel like jelly, but she’s considerate enough to pull her crotch up and away from his face. Ben pants for air against her, his breaths ragged. 

“Sorry,” Rey says faintly. She looks around herself, dazed, and then executes a graceless dismount. She lands with a thump on her rear next to Ben on his bed.

When she looks down at him, Ben is panting and redfaced and _Jesus_ , his cheeks and his chin are shining with slick. He practically looks high on it, though; his dark eyes are glassy. He brings his arm up to rest against his forehead, trembling slightly from an excess of oxygen. Rey flops onto her back next to him, head down near his thighs; she reaches out vaguely to stroke his skin there. When she closes her eyes, all she can hear are the two of them breathing.

“Was that too much?” she asks finally, when her voice comes back enough to carry a sentence.

“No,” Ben says hoarsely. “No, that was...good.” She hears a wet pop from him sucking his fingers. “You taste so fucking good,” he says more to himself, sounding a little bit manic.

Rey smiles lazily and turns onto her side with some effort. Propped up onto one elbow, she can see Ben licking himself clean. She can also clearly see the erection stretching over his stomach.

“What about you,” she says, pillowing her head on his thigh, right next to his cock. She can see its veins pulse as her breath steams its skin.

“You don’t need to,” Ben says, limply shaking his head. He brings one hand down to touch her hair. “Really. That was enough.”

“Well, maybe I want to,” Rey pouts. She rolls her head over and sucks at the warm webbing just between his dick and his ballsack. Ben groans, and his fingers clench on her hair.

“Not now,” he manages to say, voice tight with effort. Rey makes a muffled sound of protest. “Later,” he adds, and Rey reluctantly releases him. His rough fingertips stroke through her hair and he takes a long, calming breath. “Something to look forward to after work.”

Rey raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s my night off,” she says archly. “Bold of you to assume I’ll be up and willing at 4am.”

Ben smirks. “You won’t be?”

Her lips curl in an answering smile. She leans down and gently nips at his thigh, not breaking eye contact. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

\---

Rey slips on Ben’s Nirvana t-shirt and some underwear while Ben takes a shower. With an hour to go before the start of Ben’s shift, they both wind up on his couch, sitting on opposite ends with their legs entwined in the middle. Rey starts entering scores for a stack of math tests she brought home from school. Ben’s reading some ponderous tome that looks like a civil war history, but more often than not his eyes wander off the page and onto Rey as she mutters darkly under her breath.

“What is it?” he finally asks.

Rey is intent on one student’s test, flipping between their answer and the exemplar page she has in front of her.

“Phasma’s being a hardass again,” Rey mutters, reaching over to the coffee table for a red pen. She uncaps it and changes the lead teacher’s neat script from a 0 to a 1.

“Phasma?”

Rey glances up at Ben. “My lead teacher,” she explains. “I’m the assistant in her classroom. She’s good at what she does, but she has _no_ patience for the small group I work with. If their answers don’t look just like the exemplar, she gives them zero credit.”

Ben looks blankly at her over the top of his book. Rey energetically shifts over on the couch so she’s sitting in the middle, leaning against his bent legs.

“Take Zaniel, for example,” she says, warming up to her subject. “For this problem he’s supposed to draw 4 groups of ten. Now, he didn’t get the right number and he’s not showing his numbers in stacks of ten, but he _is_ representing his numbers in groups, right?” She brandishes the test booklet at Ben, flashing him a view of a messy leaning tower of numbers. “At least he’s attempting to use the strategy I taught him. It’s a 3 point question, and I say he should get 1 of those points for the concept of grouping.” 

When Rey looks back up at Ben, he’s looking at her instead of the paper. “You really take this seriously,” he says, sounding amused.

“Yes,” Rey says, unexpectedly fierce; it’s not amusing to her. “ _Some_ body has to. These kids are below grade level, but they’re learning, and they deserve to be recognized. They could go for years, otherwise, thinking that they’re failures, or incapable.” Her grip tightens on the paper, crinkling its edges. A familiar anger burns in her gut, low and personal. “They’re not _stupid,”_ she says. 

Ben tilts his head slightly, considering her in that still, steady way he does sometimes, like she’s an iceberg and he’s gauging how far down she goes. “Is this why you want to teach?” he asks.

Rey fidgets. “Well...yes,” she says. She goes with the interview answer: “I think that schools can really help kids who need the support. Teachers are in a position to reach kids.”

Ben stays quiet; he’s listening, waiting. Rey glances at him. She teeters on the edge of ending it there, but his dark eyes are a patient prompt. So she goes on, with the full answer this time. 

“I had a really hard time at school, growing up,” she says softly, looking down at her hands. “I, uh, kept moving around, so I was always the new kid, always trying to catch up.” She swallows hard, remembering. “At first I was truant, when I was little, then for a while I was homeschooled by someone who didn’t know what they were doing, then I was out of school entirely, between...moves...it was just a mess.” She blows out her breath, dispirited. “I liked to read, so I was pretty ok on that front, but by the time I got to middle school math? Hah.” Rey laughs humorlessly. “I was so far behind. I was in 6th grade and I thought the multiplication ‘x’ was an actual letter. I was fucked.” 

A trace of a real smile does cross Rey’s face, then. “I had a math teacher in 8th grade, though, Ms. Kanata. She was the first person who actually asked me what I _could_ do. She was funny, too. And kind, I guess, because she took the time to joke around with me.” Rey stares through her hands, mind far away. “She got me to the point where I could scrape through remedial high school math. She’d bring cookies and sit me down after school and talk me through problems. I’m still not great at math, never will be, but she meant a lot to me. She _tried_. No one else was trying, but she did.”

Rey forces herself back to the present, looking at Ben with a sheepish laugh. “Maybe that sounds corny, but that’s why I want to be a teacher. I just know it can matter, you know?”

Ben’s gaze is intent. Rey is twisting her fingers in her lap; he reaches out and takes one of her pointers between his thumb and forefinger to still it, strokes the side of the knuckle. “That’s not corny,” he says quietly. Rey warily searches his face for any sign of judgement or dishonesty, but there’s none to be found. 

Ben doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Rey sees his face _gather_ , like he’s deciding on something, then he says haltingly: “I had a teacher like that, too. Someone who tried. Someone who taught me I was good for something.”

Rey’s gaze sparks with interest; for someone who reads about history, Ben hardly ever tells personal anecdotes. Is this his offering, in return for her story? 

“What did they teach?” she asks, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“I went to a private high school,” Ben says slowly. He traces her fingers meditatively. “I was sort of a scholarship student, we weren’t that well off. And the deans hated me, they wanted to expel me. This was back when...” he gestures dismissively with his free hand “...my temper. I fought, most days. Spent a lot of class time out of class, in detention.” He glances over at Rey. “You remember that red-head, Hux, from the First Order meeting?”

Rey blinks, caught off guard by the reference. “Yes, why?”

Ben’s lips twist. “We were in school together,” he says grimly, “believe it or not. He was just as much of an asshole then. The worst kind of rat. He’d get me riled up on purpose, because getting choked or punched was worth it to him if it got me expelled.”

Rey bites her lip to hold in a million questions. How the hell is Ben now _working_ with Hux? Is that why Hux singled her out at the club? A large part of her wants to get more clarity, too, on the whole “choked or punched” part of Ben’s history. Ultimately, though, she’s too afraid that he’ll stop talking if she questions him now. She opts to keep quiet.

“Hux and I were in the same after-school club,” Ben continues, “sort of a business club. I had no interest in business, but the teacher was...interesting. He talked me into joining. Made it sound like something worth doing. Like _I_ could be good enough to do it.”

Rey leans her head against the couch, watching him. “Is this the teacher who helped you?”

“Yes.” Ben pauses. “He saw something in me that I couldn’t see, said he could help me bring it out. He kept Hux in line, convinced the deans to let me stay in school, got me my first job...and he always listened. I could come to him with anything.” Ben sighs. “I owe him so much.”

Rey smiles faintly. “What was his name?”

Ben looks at her sidelong. “Snoke,” he says, measuring her with his gaze.

Rey’s head straightens instinctively. At first she just looks at Ben, confused. When he doesn’t correct himself, her eyes stretch wide in disbelief.

“ _T_ _hat_ Snoke?” she asks, incredulous. “First Order Snoke?” Ben just nods, and pure indignation starts to rush in. “Hang on,” she says, voice raised, “You mean that crusty old fuck, that rude, creepy _ass_ hole-“ Rey cuts herself off, covering her mouth and mentally scrambling to reconcile the nasty old man she met with Ben Solo’s mentor. She doesn’t want to offend Ben, but Jesus... “ _Snoke_ helped you out?”

“Yes,” Ben says. He sounds defensive. “I told you we’ve known each other a long time. First Order was just one store back then, he was kind of an after-school volunteer.”

Rey sits back, flummoxed. Snoke, volunteering his time for an after-school club? Snoke, willingly working with minors? It makes no sense to her, but Ben doesn’t seem to be lying. It’s just baffling. Rey isn’t used to her gut instincts about people being so badly off base.

“I mean-“ says Rey, trying to come back with a more open mind. She takes a deep breath, tries again. “I mean, did he really help you?”

“Yes,” Ben repeats himself. His grip tightens on her hand. “I would have had nowhere to turn without him, I would be nothing without him. He’s given me so much and helped me through so many things. Terrible things.” Ben looks away from her, jaw working. His expression grows tight.

“Hey.” Rey presses a quick, apologetic kiss to Ben’s knee, trying to snap him out of it. “I’m sorry. I just am...surprised. But I’m glad that he’s helped you before.” She can’t help but ask, though: “Does he still help you now?”

Ben is quiet for a long moment. He doesn’t look up at Rey. “I owe him,” he says slowly. “He asks for some things in return. His business is everything to him, and he expects the same from me.”

Rey holds her tongue and Ben looks back at her when the silence goes long. His eye twitches faintly. They must both be thinking of Snoke’s disdain towards Rey, the way Ben is essentially hiding her from him.

“It’s not easy,” he admits, gaze almost haunted. “It’s not easy when somebody knows you like he knows me.”

Rey looks into his eyes and suddenly decides that her instincts about Snoke can’t be wrong after all. Because she would have said the same thing about Plutt. Her guardian who never stood guard, the uncaring man who cared just enough to size her up and tell her she was worthless. _Junk works with junk_ , he’d say scornfully. _Trash calls to trash._ When Rey first admitted that she wanted to teach, Plutt told her he _knew_ she would never become a teacher. It took years for Rey to realize that he just didn’t _want_ it to happen.

“People only know who you are if you become what they tell you to be,” Rey says. The words slip out of her mouth, unconscious and unconsidered but somehow right. Ben opens his mouth to reply, then checks himself, shaking his head.

“I should go downstairs,” he says instead, not meeting her gaze. “Open up before the crew shows up.”

Rey wants to stop him, but knows the signs of someone who’s feeling cornered. “Ok,” is all she says. She leans away slightly to let Ben shift off of the couch, and watches him stand. He gives her a lackluster smile.

“Text me if you need anything,” he says, running his hands through his hair. Then her manager opens the door and disappears down the stairs.

\---

Rey likes these nights when she has Ben’s apartment to herself; she gets to play house. Cozy in her t-shirt and underwear, Rey makes a double batch of mac n’ cheese (her groceries, not his) and watches an episode of Great British Bakeoff, taking great satisfaction from fucking up Ben’s Netflix algorithm. She lets another episode run while she works through the last of the math tests that she has to score, and then she’s technically free for the night.

It’s less fun playing house when there’s no one to play it with, though.

Rey finds herself thinking about Ben and their earlier conversation. She shouldn’t be surprised that Ben can still surprise her, but she is, nonetheless. The Ben that she’s gotten to know can smile, can tell jokes, is tender and rough with her body in turns. Understanding him as much as she does is such an accomplishment, she’d almost forgotten that there’s more about him that she _doesn’t_ know yet. There’s something there, under the surface, somewhere where Snoke and Hux and his family live. Rey doesn’t like being kept in the dark, but it would be hypocritical of her to demand that he lay it all out. If he’s anything like her- and she _knows_ that he is- then she has to be Finn to his Rey and slowly, carefully, draw the truth out.

Rey sighs, but she isn’t discouraged. After all, it’s not like he’s hiding dead bodies, despite Rose’s claim.

She stretches out on the couch with a luxurious yawn, turning her mind to more pleasant things. Back in bed, for example. Rey idly strokes a finger along the ridge of her cunt, remembering the way Ben’s eyes had burned with want, the sounds he’d made with his mouth pressed against her. She feels a low spark strike within her, and her finger grows less idle. It would have been nice to have him finish inside of her, afterwards, while she was so wet and grasping. He could have slid in so easily, stretching her out. He could have taken her from behind, weight pressing down as he pumped.

A flame of longing leaps between Rey’s legs, and 4am has never felt further away. She licks her lips and glances around the apartment, wondering if she wants to masturbate here or back in Ben’s bed. She’s already sliding off her underwear when a better idea occurs to her.

Rey gets up off the couch and walks into the kitchen, doing some mental calculations. If the living room is mostly the public seating and front kitchen of First Order, then this particular corner of Ben’s kitchen must be right above...Ben’s office. She smiles faintly and picks up her phone.

  
  


<Are you in your office?>

<I think I’m standing right over you>

  
  


Rey waits patiently, tracing patterns on the fridge. Then her phone buzzes in her hand and it’s Ben:

  
  


<Yes>

<Are you eating my food?>

  
  


So she was right about the kitchen. Rey types back:

  
  


<Not exactly>

<I’m thinking about you>

  
  


She bites at her lip, then decides to go for it.

  
  


<I’m still wearing your shirt>

<Just that>

  
  


The gray dots of Ben typing appear and disappear. Rey continues on anyway, giving him a nudge:

  
  


<I’m remembering earlier>

  
  


Rey waits, but still no reply from Ben. Maybe someone knocked at his door and asked him a question? Maybe he’s actually busy with work? Rey feels a little embarrassed, suddenly, for trying to sext someone who barely even texts. She’s already moving out of the kitchen when her phone buzzes and lights up; Ben is calling her. Rey grins and picks up.

“Yes?” she asks innocently.

“What about earlier?” he says, right to the point.

“I liked getting to sit on top of you,” Rey says smoothly. “I liked making everything taste and smell like my cunt.”

“I see.” His voice still sounds relatively normal, but he isn’t changing the subject. Is he in front of other people? Still shut up in his office? “What else?”

Rey walks back in front of the fridge. She reaches up and smooths her hand down her front, running over the t-shirt and just barely snagging on a stiffening nipple; it’s starting to disrupt the flow of the fabric.

“I’m thinking about how you touched me,” she says, voice lowering. And she really is. Her hand continues down to the edge of the t-shirt around her thighs; she brushes it up to touch at her pubic curls. “You went slow at first, and sometimes I like that, when your fingers just fill me and stretch me out.”

Ben’s voice drops lower too. “Are you touching yourself now?”

“I want to,” says Rey. “Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

Rey sighs lightly in relief against the phone and lets her fingers slide past her hair to the warm, wrinkled flesh around her cunt. She leans back against the fridge and braces herself against it, sliding slowly down until she sits on the floor.

“What about now?” asks Ben levelly.

“Yes,” she sighs, happy. “I’m just touching my lips now.” She caresses her folds, creating a broad, low-level tingle throughout the whole region. “I loved it when you kissed these. I felt your tongue all over them.”

He pauses, then: “Play with your clit.” It comes out rough over the phone. “Like I did.”

Rey shifts her fingers along herself until they reach the nub of half-hidden flesh at her peak. She makes small circles and her body starts humming.

“Yes, sir,” she says, eyes closing.

“You’re not at work, Rey.”

“But you are,” she says. She licks her lips, concentrating. “I wish that you weren’t.”

“Tell me what I’m missing.”

“I’m starting to feel...hot. The floor’s cold, but up here, I’m, I’m starting to feel good…”

“You’re sitting?” Ben asks.

“By the fridge,” Rey says, quickening her pace. “Right above you.”

“Lie down,” he says, voice starting to burn. “On your stomach. Stretch out over me.”

A needy noise escapes Rey’s throat. She complies, turning over and shivering as the bare tops of her thighs touch the tile.

“It’s cold,” she murmurs, one hand still holding the phone to her ear.

“Are your nipples stiff, Rey?”

Rey licks her lips. She presses the speakerphone button and sets the phone down near her face. One hand is slotted between her legs, still masturbating. With her other hand she briefly touches her chest.

“Yes,” she says, voice small. Then: “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking up at the ceiling,” Ben says. “I’m picturing you there.” She hears him suck in a breath and he says, voice quiet. “I want to touch myself, too, but I can’t.”

“Is it hard?” Rey asks, a small moan. She pictures his cock stiffening beneath his black jeans.

“Getting there,” Ben says.

“Touch it through your pants,” Rey says. Her breaths are coming a little faster now. “Under your desk, where no one could see it.”

“That’s dangerous,” Ben rumbles.

“Do it for me,” she pants.

Silence from Ben. Then she hears him shift the phone and he talks again, voice a little faint. “I’m doing it,” he says. “Now what are you doing for me?”

Rey reluctantly shifts her fingers away from her clit, spreading her legs and dipping her finger back down to her entrance. She slides her fingers along the smooth, slick opening, feeling the wetness that’s gathering there.

“I’m moving my fingers down,” she narrates. “I’ve got my legs spread for you. My pussy’s all wet. I think if I put my fingers inside, it’ll make noise.”

Ben groans. It’s restrained, but intense. “Put your fingers in, Rey. Tell me how it feels.”

Rey complies and her whole body shivers. “It’s hot,” she says faintly. “It’s so smooth inside, but it’s squeezing my fingers. I feel all pinched and swollen, like I can’t go much further.”

“Go further,” he prompts. “Put your whole finger in.”

Rey closes her eyes and slots her whole middle finger inside of herself, wiping the walls until she feels a thick bump. “Feels good,” she mutters.

“More, Rey,” Ben says immediately. “What does it sound like?”

“Wet,” she says. “Like you’re still licking it.” She pulses her pelvis against the floor, anchoring her clit to the floor and using the friction to rub it. Her voice staggers a little. “My finger’s too small to fill it all up. Your fingers are bigger.”

“Put two fingers in.”

“I want _you_ ,” Rey mumbles. Her cheeks are starting to feel hot, and she keeps her hips moving. “I’m grinding onto the floor. Onto your ceiling. If I drip, it’s going to smear over your head.”

Ben’s breathing sounds fast and harsh on the line.

“My...my fingers are inside of myself, two now,” Rey continues, panting. “I’m grinding my clit over you. My shirt-”

“ _My_ shirt.”

“Your shirt, sir. It’s pushing up over my ass. My ass is cold. I want you to kiss it, to push down on it while you fuck me-”

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” begs Rey. “Or I could come down there and sit on your thigh and you’ll touch me.” She can picture it so clearly, her straddling his leg. “I just want to cum,” she whines. “I want to be full and want it to be you…”

“I’m coming up,” Ben says abruptly. The line goes dead and Rey forces herself to pull her fingers back out of herself. She shivers, cunt clenching over the cold tiles, then shakily picks herself up.

_He’s coming_ , she thinks, the thought thrumming though her. _He’s coming, he’s coming for me..._

Part of her wants him to find her exactly as she described, on the floor with her legs splayed and his t-shirt hiked up over her ass. A larger part of her can’t wait for that, though; they can recreate the scene later.

Rey hears the street door open right as she opens the door to the apartment. She steps through and stands on the small landing at the top of the stairs, hair loose, face heated, wearing just his black t-shirt. In the light filtering down from behind her, Rey sees Ben standing frozen below. He’s just looking up at her, motionless, his stillness almost reverent.

But Rey is impatient, and she starts down the steps. Her movement breaks Ben out of his spell, and he rushes up to meet her. They crash in the middle, a tangling of mouth and limbs, precarious on the steps. Rey holds his face against hers. His large hands are hot as they swipe over her legs, reaching briefly between them to slip into the wetness she’d tried to describe. Ben moans against her lips and withdraws his fingers. He roughly pulls Rey closer to himself, and she stumbles, off balance.

For a gut-dropping moment, Rey loses her footing on the stairs and lurches past Ben, falling forwards and downwards. She gasps in surprise. It all happens so fast- she’s falling past Ben, he’s turning with her, her hands stretch out too slow...and then there’s a _thump_ and a jerk and Rey halts, caught by Ben. Ben is stretched flat-backed against the wall, one arm clutched around her waist, the other, higher, hand anchoring them to the railing.

Rey swallows in air, then laughs in relief. She shakes her head to clear the vertigo.

“That was close!” she says, smiling, then turns her head to keep kissing Ben.

And stops.

Ben looks _terrified._

He’s white as a sheet, practically glowing in the relative dark of the staircase. 

“Ben?” she asks, confused.

Ben doesn’t reply. He’s breathing thinly in and out through his nose, pupils huge and dark in the secondhand light from the top of the stairs.

“Ben?” Concern creeps into her tone as she repeats herself. Rey pulls back- or would, if Ben didn’t have a death grip on her.

“What happened?” she asks. There’s no way that their stumble alone could have done this. Did he pull a muscle? Is he having a heart attack? Rey touches his still face and impulsively kisses it. He just flinches.

“Ben,” she calls, frightened.

Ben’s fingers tighten painfully on her, but at last a small breath passes out of his mouth. “Go upstairs,” he says finally, thinly. He’s not looking at her, just staring straight past her.

“O-ok,” stutters Rey, feeling very off-balance. Her mind is a mashup of nerves and adrenaline. “You have to let me go first.”

Ben tears his gaze away from the nothingness to look at her blankly. Then he looks down between them and seems to recall that he’s holding her. He lets go of her waist, but his hand immediately moves to her arm, creating a barrier between her and the rest of the staircase.

“Are you ok?” Rey asks, still not moving. “You seem li-”

“Go _up_ ,” he barks.

Rey startles. She turns abruptly away from him and starts up the stairs. She can hear and feel him walking one step behind her, one hand on either railing. It’s not far to the top, and when Rey enters the apartment again she turns back around to see that Ben has closed the door behind them. He leans against the wood, dark eyes darting around the walls and ceiling.

“New paint,” he says faintly. Rey’s concern magnifies, but she’s scared to come near; he’s never snapped at her before like he did on the stairs.

“Ben,” she says instead, hiding the tremble in her voice. “You’re ok. I’m ok.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and squeezes tight, still not looking at her. But she can hear that he’s trying to steady his breathing.

“You’re ok,” she repeats cautiously, willing it to be true.

Ben manages a deep breath and glances at her. His eyes skitter over her, giving Rey the distinct impression that he doesn’t want to engage with her.

“I have to go back to the store,” he says automatically. His voice sounds as cramped and constricted as his body language.

Rey doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nods.

Ben doesn’t say anything further. He turns, takes the door knob in his hand. Rey hears him take another deep breath, then he violently swings the door open again and switches on the light. He looks downstairs cautiously. Rey sees his shoulders relax.

Ben heads down the stairs, and Rey listens to him go. She hears the door at the bottom open and shut, then it’s silent.

Rey shakily blows out a breath past her lips, looking up at the ceiling.

“What the fuck,” she says quietly.

\---

Rey is in bed- well, _his_ bed- with the lights off, trying to be asleep, when she hears the door to the room open around 4am. She can hear Ben moving quietly around, the whumpf of his clothes landing in the hamper, the beep of his phone as it’s plugged in to charge. These domestic noises normally fill her with a warm cozy feeling, but a thick wall of misery has been building up ever since Ben walked out on her, and the noises can’t pierce it. She listens, detached, eyes wide in the dark. 

Finally, the mattress dips slightly and Ben’s on the bed, pulling the sheets up and over himself. He shifts himself close to her but doesn’t reach out.

“Rey,” he says.

Rey doesn’t answer.

“Rey.” He sounds tired. “You’re not asleep. You snore when you’re asleep.”

“I do not,” snaps Rey, not caring that she’s proving him right.

She hears him sigh.

“You’re mad at me.”

Rey’s lips twist bitterly. “Why would I be mad?”

“You tell me.”

Rey doesn’t turn. “You scared me,” she says flatly. “And then you left me.”

Ben is silent behind her. His body is close enough that she can feel its warmth, but Rey still feels cold.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause. “I shouldn’t have left, but you scared me.”

“ _I_ did?” Rey rolls onto her back at that, but Ben is just another shadow in the darkness.

“You almost fell.”

Rey, squints, confused. “On the stairs? But I didn’t.”

“But you could have.” His voice is quiet and strained.

Rey considers his words for a moment. “Ben,” she says slowly. “Was that really all? Because you froze up _completely_ . I was scared that something had happened to you.” Her voice raises as frustration seeps in. “One minute we’re about to have sex, the next minute you’re freaked out and snapping at me, and freaking _me_ out, and then you just...walked away, and left me with that.” 

Ben sighs again, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I panicked,” he says bluntly. It’s a strange admission coming from her usually confident manager, strange enough that it strikes her as true. “I can’t explain why.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

Rey can’t make out his expression. He doesn’t answer, but reaches out cautiously and touches her face, just with his fingertips. Rey hasn’t warmed up yet, but she doesn’t turn away either. He lightly traces the curve of her cheek.

“I shouldn’t have snapped and I shouldn’t have left,” he says humbly. His fingertips pause, and his voice wobbles slightly. “I didn’t know if you would still be here when I came back.”

“I am,” Rey says mildly. Her anger is fading somewhat, comforted by the fact that he’s back and he’s trying, at least. “I’m not happy, though.”

“I know.”

“And I’d like if that didn’t happen again.” Now _her_ voice shakes slightly. “I don’t like being left.”

Ben bends his head to her shoulder and kisses it chastely. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips warm on her skin. Rey feels him swallow.

“Rey,” he asks, uncertain. “Can I hold you?”

Rey considers him, this strange man of hers. The worst part of tonight was the feeling that despite all she knows about Ben, what she _doesn’t_ know matters far more. These secrets of his have sharp teeth, like sharks lurking under the water, and they can hurt her if she doesn’t learn to watch out. It plants a seed of doubt, but right now a much larger part of her craves reassurance: a return of the familiar Ben.

“Yes, please,” she whispers at last. Ben readily wraps himself around her, a warm, welcoming ocean. For now, at least.

\---

Within 10 minutes, Rey is snoring. Ben listens to her, trying to ground himself with the familiarity of the sound. The panic that raged through him hours ago is still simmering, and he can’t help but think of how closely he’s come to fucking things up. He’s lucky that he ever got to hear her again.

_She’s safe_ , he reminds himself, _she’s fine._

But he’s not fine. He gingerly lets go of Rey’s waist and slides back out of bed, knowing there’s something he has to do before he can rest. He lingers at the edge of the mattress, listening to her snores for any change in the pattern. Nothing. She’s still asleep.

Ben warily exits the bedroom and looks across the dark apartment. He walks silently into the kitchen on bare feet, grabbing a dish rag from under the sink and then turning the faucet on. Water drips blackly onto the rag, and Ben feels it start to soak in. He tries to keep his thoughts to a minimum; his whispering memories are shoved down for now. Once the water starts running freely out of the rag, Ben turns off the faucet and carries the wet cloth to the front door. 

On the landing at the top of the staircase, Ben looks down. The handrails are the newest part, something he had installed around 10 years ago. Before that there was rope, which he had sloppily nailed up as a precautionary measure. Before even that, there was carpet on the steps, but that had been the first to go; Ben had ripped that up as a teenager with nothing but a hammer and sheer manic will. He’d scrubbed every last step, too, with soap and with bleach. Multiple times a day, at first, but less often as the years went on. He’s been over these stairs so many times they’re probably the cleanest thing he owns.

And the most unclean.

Ben has scrubbed that last step countless times. He _knows_ it’s not dirty. He _knows_ it doesn’t look any different. But it always seems a little darker to him.

Ben walks heavily down the stairs, careful to hold onto the railing, careful to keep his mind shut. He skips the last step as always, but then he kneels on the tiled landing and starts scrubbing its worn wood with his damp cloth. 

Maybe this time it’ll be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that last step, huh??
> 
> Writing this chapter was kind of like punching an over-large pillow into a pillowcase. I *really* wanted to provide evidence (for science!) that Ben eats out Rey at this point in the relationship, I wanted background info on Snoke, and I equally wanted to include the last sequence in this chapter, so I ended up including alllll the things. I hope you enjoy! I've really come to love our little community of commentariat, so thank you as always to all the readers for the kudos, comments, and shares. It's blowing my mind that this fic is coming up on 1k!
> 
> Stay safe and sane, and see you in a week <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But is everything *really* ok?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: the truths may be a little intense for some, if it's too much feel free to skip to the end where it gets a lil' fluffy again.

Rey dreams that she’s standing in a desert of red-yellow sand with a blazing white sun overhead. She’s naked, and there’s no trace of cover on the unending plain. Her skin is already starting to bubble and burn in the terrible heat. Dream-Rey is starting to panic when she looks down at her feet and sees a gray robe in the sand. She quickly pulls it on over her head. Another robe appears to take its place. Rey pulls that on too, and the next one, and the next. She bundles herself in dozens of robes to protect her skin, but she keeps getting hotter and hotter. The layers are stifling, but she obsessively wraps herself up until her limbs are heavy and swollen with fabric. Rey falls to her knees from the weight, gasping. She feels like she’s going to suffocate, but she compulsively pulls on one last robe. That’s when the weight of it drags her down into the sand, and that’s when she wakes with a gasp.

Real Rey, now-awake Rey, jolts upright in bed. She grabs at her chest, looking down, and is shaken to find that there are no gray robes, just Ben’s black Nirvana t-shirt. Her phone alarm is buzzing by her side. She leans over to shut it off, willing herself to calm down. On her other side, Ben sleeps through the noise.

It’s been a strange night.

Rey finds comfort in her morning routine, quietly leaving the bed to go brush her teeth in the bathroom. She looks a little pale in the mirror, so she keeps her hair down to distract from her pallor. Pulling on her school clothes feels perverse after the dream she’s just had, but Rey grits her teeth and does it anyway, slipping a dark blue sheath dress on over her head. She still looks pale, but presentable. More like Miss Jakku.

Rey stops back into the bedroom before she goes. Ben is sprawled face down on his pillows, sheets falling in a gentle drape from his back. On other occasions sleep had made Ben look young, but this morning he just looks exhausted, skin grayish and thin. He hadn’t even stirred when her alarm went off.

How much does she really know about him? How much does she need to know?

Rey sighs and remembers last night, Ben’s strange fit and how abruptly he’d left the apartment. Surely this is something that all couples- if that’s what they are- will come across at some point or another. Undiscovered tics, personal rites, the kinds of behaviors that blink at the light of day like cave lake creatures. Something important had happened last night on the stairs, and Rey wonders how deeply she should delve into Ben’s secrets to figure out what. She believes that he panicked, and knows that he behaved badly, but why? How can another person be so complicated and yet so simple? Because simply put, Rey finds Ben unbearably handsome, sprawled as he is. His pale face only makes her want to breathe heat on his cheeks, to bring out the red in his lips with her kisses. It’s tempting to forgive and forget.

Rey pulls the sheet over his shoulders and leaves.

\---

Friday passes by in an uneasy truce. Rey stays late after work to grade papers instead of going to Ben’s apartment, convincing herself that it’s just good sense. Once at First Order, though, it’s less easy to tell herself that she’s  _ not  _ avoiding Ben. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, it’s just that she doesn’t know what to say. She does her best to stay up front all night, but finally she runs out of chicken and has to go to the back kitchen. She rounds the corner and, just her luck, Ben is already there, unpacking new supplies into the fridges. For a long moment Rey just stands and watches him work. He finally shoots her a look, expressionless.

“Do you need help?” Rey makes herself say.

He shakes his head, looking away. “No,” he says, voice clipped.

Rey walks over to the boxes irregardless and stands there. Ben finishes with his armful of supplies and has to return to her side, where he continues to not look at her. Rey looks at him sidelong; his mask gives no clues, but she hazards a guess. She tentatively lifts the hand closest to him and brings it up behind him, lightly landing on the small of his back. She rubs her fingertips in a short, soothing pattern over his shirt.

Ben stops picking up cabbage heads.

Because she’s still watching him, Rey sees Ben’s face tighten. He closes his eyes and releases a small, shaky exhale. She keeps slowly rubbing the small of his back, then leans her head to lay along his shoulder. At that, Ben turns towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. He buries his face in her hair and she snuggles her face into his chest; a coworker could walk back right now and neither of them would care.

“I didn’t know what to say-” she begins.

“It’s okay.” He holds her tightly. “I don’t either.”

“Can we just...not talk about it?” asks Rey, cheek flat on his shirt. “For a little while?”

She feels Ben nod. “Are you staying tonight?” he asks in a low voice. It’s harder to recognize with him, but there’s an uncertain lilt to his tone.

Now Rey nods.

Ben’s hold on her relaxes. He dips his head down, nose trailing across the curve of her neck. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice a warm steam on her skin.

Rey turns her head and quickly presses a kiss to his hovering lips. Ben follows her back, giving her a swift kiss of his own. Rey’s breath feels syrupy in her chest as she snags his soft lips again and again; a bright need starts coiling between them. Then Rey remembers where they are- right in the middle of a fully staffed shift- and through sheer force of will she pulls her head far enough back that he can’t kiss her again. Ben’s eyes look hazy, until Rey meaningfully nods at the kitchen around them. He blinks and straightens, hands still lingering on her. Then he entirely lets her go, turning back to his work.

“See you tonight,” Rey says quietly, finally pulling her hand from his back. Ben nods briefly, eyes on the supplies, but to Rey it seems like his shoulders are less hunched than they were when she first walked in.

\---

Despite their kisses at work, neither of them make a move to initiate anything overtly sexual after their shift. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s a lingering sense of words still remaining unsaid. Whatever the reason, they both sleep late instead, seemingly free of strange dreams or compulsions. Rey wakes up the next morning to find Ben draped over her, unconsciously pulling her close to his body.

“Ben,” she says drowsily, trying to move.

“Mm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Mhm.”

Rey exhales, torn between frustration and growing amusement. “ _ Ben _ ,” she says again. She pokes him with her free hand, which finally causes his eyes to flutter open. He smacks his lips lazily, like a napping lion.

“Yes, Rey?” His voice is fuzzy and deep.

“You’re fucking gigantic.”

His eyes shut again. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and he snuggles his face back into the bed.

Rey laughs and pokes him again, more firmly this time. “Come on, I need to pee. Unless you want this bed to get a whole lot less comfortable, fast…”

Ben groans and rolls off of Rey with great effort, landing on his back with a thump. He rubs at his eyes, yawning. “I hope it’s not teacher o’ clock.”

Rey snorts, but does check her phone just to see; she has a bad habit of waking up early even on her days off. That’s not the case today, for better or worse. 

“It’s past two!” she exclaims, staring down at her screen. The bed jostles slightly as Ben hauls himself up and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“That’s fine,” he says, unperturbed, and he stands up and stretches. “We still have five hours.” 

“I guess.” Rey looks out of the bedroom window at the blue, cloudless sky, thinking vaguely of all the exciting, ambitious things that they might have done if they’d got up at 10. Then she shrugs, dismissing it all. Lazing at the apartment sounds good, right now. Hell, it sounds great.

She breaks out of her fog at the sound of a door closing. A  _ bathroom _ door. 

“Hey!” she yells, getting off of the bed. “I said I needed to pee, asshole!”

\--- 

The day passes quickly, even though they’re not doing anything particularly special. Things are better between them because of their agreement at work, but Rey still gets the sense that Ben’s walking on eggshells. He always likes touching her, but today he’s particularly prone to letting his hands ghost over her back, her arm, her legs, making contact no matter where or how they might be sitting. He’s quick to respond to her questions or comments about mundane things, as if trying to make up for all the things he won’t say about what happened on Thursday. Rey feels a little like he’s wooing her, reminding her of how things normally are. She’s happy to be reminded, and she decides to contribute to the domestic feel of the day.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, kissing him. She’s pulling on an olive-green skirt that she’ll wear to school on Monday, as well as a short sleeved white blouse.

“What are you getting?” he asks. He straightens her shirt so the buttons face front.

“Snacks,” she says airily. “Courtesy of my good friend EBT.” She smiles up at him. “You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later, Rey buzzes the doorbell, and Ben comes down to let her in. Per usual, he stays in the shadows of the doorway, and Rey quickly steps in to meet him; they haven’t been spotted yet, but it would be silly to take any chances. Her grocery bags weigh her down on either side.

Ben raises an eyebrow. “These are all snacks?”

“Better,” Rey says with a grin. “Dinner stuff.”

She heads up the stairs, stepping more cautiously than she might have a few days ago. Once inside the apartment, Rey dumps her bags on the countertop.

“We,” she says, rummaging through the supplies, “are making chicken parmesan. Because we can. And it’s delicious. And we need to stop eating takeout.”

Ben snorts. “How health conscious of you.”

“Are you kidding?” Rey straightens, lifting a tray of raw chicken from the bags. “I would have done lasagna, but we don’t have, like, nine hours to kill before work.”

Ben considers Rey with an odd, fleeting expression. She can’t put her finger on it exactly, but it does make her face fall slightly.

“Do you...like chicken parm?” she asks hesitantly.

“Yes,” he says quickly. “Very much.” His gaze now is definitely warm, though he doesn’t physically close the distance between them. “It’s a good idea.”

Rey smiles shyly back at him. Then she clears her throat, pulling her confidence back up like an actor re-taking the stage.

“Good,” she says decisively. “Now get something heavy; you’re pounding the chicken.”

Ben raises his eyebrows and walks over, taking the tray from her hands. “Because I’m good at it?”

Rey shakes her head airily. “ _ I  _ wasn’t going to make that joke.” She wrinkles her nose at him. “Also, no. You’ve just got big dumb arms.”

“Sticks and stones,” Ben intones dryly. His big, dumb arms do prove effective at the task at hand, though, and if it makes Rey’s heart beat a little faster to see his muscles bunch and stretch while he flattens the chicken with a cast iron pan...well, we all have our weaknesses. In spite of the distraction, they’re soon at the point where they’re ready to bread and fry the chicken cutlets.

“Hang on,” says Rey. Oil is just starting to bubble in a cast iron pan, and she automatically pulls her right arm away from it, conscious of her old burns. She glances down at her shirt and skirt. “I need an apron or something.”

Ben looks nonplussed. “An apron?” he repeats.

Rey gestures down at her clothes. “This isn’t First Order gear,” she says, almost wishing they were. “I need to wear these at school on Monday, I can’t get them stained.” _And_ _I don’t have the money for new clothes_ , she mentally adds.

Ben glances around the kitchen like a previously undiscovered apron may be hanging from a nonexistent hook. Unsurprisingly, there is nothing. Ben pauses; his gaze becomes a little unfocused. He seems to hesitate for a long moment, then shoots a glance at her, which seemingly makes up his mind.

“Hang on,” he says, an oddly grim set to his face.

Ben heads to the hallway, and Rey looks down at the almost-smoking pan. The flour, egg, and bread crumbs are all laid out in their respective bowls, ready for action. Dimly, she hears the sound of a door opening. 

The oil is ready to go by the time Ben comes back; it must be only a few minutes later, but it feels like it’s been a long time. He holds a square of red cloth in his hands as he approaches; when he shakes it out, the red stretches out into an apron. The cloth is thin, with white embroidery lining the edges in a subtle vine pattern. Rey eagerly takes it from him.

“Thanks,” she says gratefully, draping the top loop over her head. She turns towards the stove, starting to reach for the ties behind her back. Ben surprises her by closing the distance between them; he takes the ties in his own hands before she can reach them. Rey goes pliant and still, waiting patiently as his broad hands loop the strings around her waist and then tie them taut over her stomach. She looks idly down at the winding white patterns.

“It’s pretty,” she says absently, fingers smoothing the thread. “Not yours, I take it?”

“No,” Ben says shortly. He finishes knotting the strings and turns her gently with his hands on her shoulders. Rey obliges, and he looks down at her and the shielding red apron. “It was my grandmother’s,” he says. 

Rey looks back up at him, surprised. There’s a subtle tension to his face, his lowered lashes, that makes Rey feel like this yet another offering for her. “Oh,” she says, stupidly. “Thank you.” She glances back down, hands still running over the cloth. “Very Italian, to have a red apron. Must hide all the tomato sauce.”

Above her, Ben’s lips twitch in a small smile. “It does,” he says quietly. “There are so many stains on it that you can’t see.”

Rey looks back at him again. “Did you know her?” she asks, not sure what else to say.

Ben’s smile fades into something reflective. “No,” he says. “She died a long time before I was born.”

Rey’s mind scrambles to fill in some of the unspoken blanks. If he knows it, does it mean that his mom wore this apron? Where was he keeping it? 

“It’s pretty,” she says simply. Then: “Did you get it from storage?”

Ben’s face settles into a cool and blank place. “Yes,” he says flatly, not adding to that. Rey nods and strokes the old- maybe decades old?- material one last time, then drags her attention back to the kitchen.

“Alright,” she says firmly, changing the subject. “Let’s fry these birds.” 

Ben does the breading and Rey handles the actual frying, deftly placing the cutlets into the sizzling oil. They work pretty well as a team, and it makes Rey unreasonably happy.

“I’ve never actually made this before,” she says, watching the cutlets sizzle in the pan. “Sorry in advance if it tastes like shit.”

“You’re fine,” Ben says, dipping the next batch in egg. “I’ve made it before, I would have said something if you were doing it wrong.”

Rey leans on the counter next to the stove, looking at Ben. “You don’t seem like you cook much,” she says reflectively. “I mean, you’ve made omelettes and quesadillas for me, and I love those, don’t get me wrong.”

Ben shrugs. He transfers the chicken to the breadcrumb bowl. “I used to cook more at home.” 

“Helping your mom?”

Ben shoots Rey a quick, wary look; the last cutlet drops into the crumbs. She can see him deciding to answer her. “Yes.”

“I always wondered,” Rey says carefully, turning her attention back to the sizzling chicken, “what you all did with the restaurant below, since you own the whole building.” She slides a spatula under the cutlets and flips them, revealing a golden brown crust. “Has it always been a First Order?” 

“No,” says Ben. Rey flips the last cutlet, not looking at him, but hearing the tension in his voice ratchet up a notch. Why? Frustration simmers in Rey’s gut, like the oil in the pan. Why is this a problem? How much can she know about him?

“What was there?” she asks.

“A restaurant,” he bites out, voice strained. 

Rey pauses; she feels like she’s stepping into a bear trap, daring the trap to spring. She barrels on, pushing her luck for once. “What do your parents do?” she asks frankly, looking at Ben.

His eyes flash; the trap snaps. “What do  _ your _ parents do?” he grits out, nostrils flaring.

Rey opens her mouth in surprise but has nothing to say. And of course, that’s the point. Rey meets Ben’s dark gaze and sees that he  _ knows _ she won’t answer, he’s expecting her not to. Without her saying a word about it- and maybe that’s the problem, that there hasn’t been a single  _ word  _ about it- Ben already knows that she doesn’t want to discuss her parents. She knew the same about him, didn’t she? He’s been guessing as much about her as she has about him, and their guesses are equally right. 

In that moment, a shared glare between two cagey souls, Rey hears loud and clear that his secrets are just as valid as hers. That she’s breaking their literally unspoken truce with her question.

Rey closes her mouth in a tight line. 

“I’m sorry to pry,” she says stiffly. “I shouldn’t. But when things happen that I don’t understand, it scares me.”

“You’re talking about Thursday,” Ben says, still looking angry. He pulls his hands free from the flour and goes over to the sink, running steaming hot water over his hands. “I said I was sorry, I said I didn’t want it to happen again, and I meant it.”

“I know,” insists Rey. “I believe you.” She turns off the stovetop, vaguely hoping their dinner won’t burn, then turns back to Ben. “But why won’t you just tell me-”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” Ben snaps. “You asked me if I can’t or won’t tell you, and the answer is  _ can’t _ .” He stands facing her, hands dripping. “You know what I mean. You have to know what I mean.” His gaze flits over her face as if seeking a sign. 

Rey twists her lips, trying not to give in, but she does know what he means. There are things about her parents, about the way she was forced to grow up, that she hasn’t told anyone, ever. Things that she keeps buried deep down at the end of a hall of locked doors with thrown away keys.

Ben takes a step closer, anxious hope replacing his frustration. “Rey, there are some things you just can’t tell people. You know what I’m talking about.”

Rey swallows. “I’d like to be able to tell them,” she says, voice fragile. “Maybe. Someday.”

“Someday,” Ben repeats. He takes one more step. “Someday I’d like that too.”

“I just want to understand you,” she says quietly, shaking her head. 

“You do.”

“I want to  _ know  _ you.”

“You  _ do _ ,” Ben insists, “as much as anyone does.” He steps directly in front of her, looks down at his grandmother’s apron. He lifts one hand to run a finger down the worn white vine. “Someday,” he says, solemn, “I will try to tell you. Because I want to. But I won’t do it today.” He raises his eyes to meet hers, gaze both intent and resigned to her answer. “Is that ok?”

Rey looks back at him for a long moment, trying to decide if it is. She finally nods, and Ben’s shoulders fall slightly with relief.

“You have to tell me something true, though,” she says, clearing her throat. Her eyes feel damp, and she gives him a wry half smile. “Something no one else knows.”

Ben’s shoulders hitch in a laugh that doesn’t leave his mouth, doesn’t cross his face. “All this,” he says, glancing at the apartment. “Any of this.”

“More,” says Rey, and she reaches up to touch his chest. “I want to know more about you than Snoke does.”

Ben swallows. He lets his hand fall from the apron’s embroidery; it lands on the knot tied around her waist. “Snoke doesn’t know my favorite chips,” he says.

“Does that matter?” asks Rey. She can feel Ben starting to tease the knot undone, but she keeps her gaze on his face.

“Yes and no. Yes, to me.” Ben glances at her, then looks back down at his task. He frowns slightly. “What about you? What do I know that Finn doesn’t know?”

Rey laughs slightly, tilting her head. “A lot,” she says softly. She inhales and tells him more, though: “I used to smoke cigarettes in high school. I’d find butts on the sidewalk and light them up.”

Ben’s gotten the knot undone. He starts unwinding the apron strings. “I owned a cat for a week,” he says. “It was a stray, but I couldn’t handle it. I gave it up to a shelter.”

Rey pulls the apron’s loop over her head, and Ben catches the fabric before it drops. He tosses it onto the counter, then steps closer to her so their bodies almost touch; Rey’s skin starts burning for contact.

“I didn’t go to my high school graduation,” Rey says, sliding her hands up onto Ben’s neck.

“Neither did I.” Ben holds her close, large hands wrapping around her waist. “I didn’t go to the last two months of school.”

Ben stoops to kiss Rey’s neck and she moans lightly into the air, feeling strange and unwound. “I used to forge doctor’s notes,” she says, fingers gripping his hair. “To explain why I wasn’t in school. I’d pretend to be the doctor’s receptionist when the school nurse called.”

“I broke a boy’s arm in middle school,” Ben says, soft lips contrasting his words. “I made him promise to say it was an accident, or I’d break the other. I threw up afterwards.”

Rey strokes the curve of his ear. “I stole food during sleepovers,” she murmurs. “Once I got caught and a girl dumped everything in the mud. I still took it home.”

Ben’s hands slide under her shirt, and Rey’s breath catches at the sudden sensation. She lifts her arms to help him pull it off, baring herself in this way as well as the other. His gaze is hungry, hungry for more truths, more skin, more of her. But he’s also willing to give her the same, to be known. Rey’s fingers are shaking when she tugs at his belt to undo it.

“I slept on a couch for almost two years,” Ben says, words coming faster now, letting her slide his pants down. “Not this one, one I took in from the street.”

Rey gets to her knees to help his jeans off, leaning in to kiss his bare thigh. “I pulled a chef’s knife on a coworker once,” she admits. “Because he tried to touch me.” She peels Ben’s underwear down and laps at the head of his cock.

Ben groans and pulls off his shirt, leaving him naked above her. “I let a homeless man kiss me to get a handle of vodka,” he confesses, dropping the shirt and running his hands through her hair. “I was 20. That was my first drink, my first kiss.”

“I was tricked into my first kiss,” Rey says, unzipping her skirt on the floor. “He said he’d let go of me if I kissed his cheek, then he turned his head.”

It’s perverse, saying these truths while they’re touching each other, but it also feels cleansing. It’s like they can burn and bury the past with the present they make with each other. Ben pulls Rey up onto her feet, out of her skirt, and they look at each other, eyes dazed, mouths hovering. She surges forward and their lips crash together, seeking, finding, replacing. One broad hand spans her ass, pulls her crotch flush against his stiffening cock. Ben pulls his mouth away, panting wetly.

“I wanted you ever since you started working for me,” he says, looking into her eyes. “I fired Noah because he was bad at his job, and because I hated him talking to you.”

Rey’s breath catches and she tightens her grip on his shoulders. “Touch me,” she breathes, eyes wide. Ben closes his eyes and slides his fingers down to her crotch, slipping his fingers gently into her heat. Rey leans forward to bite at his chest.

“I wanted you to touch me for weeks after I got burned,” Rey whispers into his warm skin. Ben’s fingers probe deeper, making her breath catch. “I want you all the time.”

Ben groans and drops his lips to her shoulder, briefly sucking the softly curved ridge. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, voice ten miles deep and ragged with truth. But, of course, that’s the point. Rey thinks vaguely of the gray robes she swathed herself with in her dream, about taking them off.

“I’ve already been hurt,” Rey gasps, bucking into his fingers. “I’d want it to be you.”

Ben curses and pulls his hand free. He hoists Rey up in his arms and stumbles back towards the couch in the living room. The journey is a warm blur of kisses and touch, and then he’s laying her down on the cushions. Ben settles himself above Rey as though he’s about to penetrate her, only pausing to kiss between her breasts on his way there. Rey vaguely worries for a moment that he’s going to go right for the plunge, but then Ben reaches down and deliberately traps his dick against his stomach; rather than pushing inside her, he lowers himself so his broad, hot length rests flush along her entrance. Rey inhales faintly, gauging the new sensation.

“Does that feel ok?” Ben murmurs. He slides one hand onto her leg, pulling it up so it drapes over his hip.

“Yes,” breathes Rey. Her chest feels like it’s burning with rising blood. She swallows. “It’s like when we...didn’t kiss in your office.”

“Did you like when we did that?” Ben asks. His eyes are half-closed, and he shifts himself slightly against her. Rey hooks her other leg around him, locking him in.

“Yes,” she says. She experiments with moving her hips a little, and his cock starts to slide along her wet lips. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Ben says, voice dropping hazy and low. “Like that, Rey, just like that.”

She moves again, carefully, and the length of him runs slick and warm right against her sex and over her clit. Rey’s breath catches at the same time as Ben’s; it’s so good after a day of withholding, after a lifetime. 

He leans close enough to kiss her cheek, nuzzling her. “You’re a good girl,” he says, speaking onto her skin. “You’re perfect.”

Rey closes her eyes with a small sob, raising her hips. She blindly turns to rub her face against his, feels his lips, warm and plush, press near the edge of her own. His cock is a constant reminder between them.

“I want to hear you,” he breathes, starting to move. “Feel you.” He exhales deeply. “Make you feel good.”

His cock slides across Rey’s lips on a wet sled of slick. Rey shudders and grabs hold of his biceps. “Ben,” she says foggily.

“Say it again,” Ben says. He bends to lick at the shell of her ear. “Say my name like you’re mine.”

“Ben,” she groans, louder. He angles his pelvis just so, and his cock starts to grind right onto her clit. Rey whimpers; her nails dig into Ben’s arms. “Please,” she says into the air. “I want to cum.”

“I’ll take you there,” he murmurs. He bites at the straining tendons in her neck. “Be patient with me. Be my good girl.”

Still grinding, Ben takes Rey by the cheek and turns her face towards his. His lips bump against hers and she kisses at them, gentle sucks; he lets her. His cock slips wetly between them, gliding faster now on the quickening rise of her slick.

“I haven’t had you,” he says, eyes closed, pulling back just enough for the air to speak. “I haven’t had you for  _ years _ .” 

“Ben,” she moans urgently. Heat rises and coils through her belly, insistent. “I’m getting so wet.”

“Coating my cock like a good girl,” he murmurs. “I know, Rey, I know.”

Rey’s thighs start to tremble as her clit catches each time on the ridge of his cock, as her cunt starts to pulse. Her back arches with quick, staggered gasps as a fiery line of orgasm shoots through her spine, a spitting sizzle like oil in a pan, slow to die down. She cries out into the air and Ben cradles her face, watching her, feeling it.

“Tell me a truth,” he whispers; she can barely hear him through the haze of her pleasure. “This is a truth, isn’t it?”

“ _ Oh _ ,” she sighs, shuddering, senseless. “Oh, you feel good, Ben. So good.”

She reaches down with one unsteady hand to part the folds of her flushed lower lips with her fingers, settling them around the girth of his cock. Ben moans, dropping to bite at her sternum. His bare dick slides across the hot, silky center of her.

“Ben…” Rey barely remembers this truth, one that she’s been considering. “I have an IUD,” she pants softly. Ben still kisses her chest but more slowly, and his grinding lets up for a moment; he’s listening. Rey moves her free hand into his hair. “They put it in last year, and I was clean then. I haven’t been with anyone else since.”

Ben shifts and then he’s looking down at her, eyes foggy with lust but trying to concentrate. “I was clean the last time I checked,” he says rustily. “After the last time, a few years ago.”

Rey swallows, looking back up at him. “Do you...do you want to put it in?” she asks in nearly a whisper.

Ben closes his eyes. “I…” he starts to speak, then shakes his head dizzily. “I want that  _ so much _ ,” he says, the last two words grinding straight out from his chest.

“Then do it,” Rey says. She touches his face.

Slowly, cautiously, Ben reaches down between them and takes his cock in his hand. He hisses softly at the contact, eyes shutting briefly. “It’s so wet already,” he mumbles. “I may cum too soon.”

“Go slow,” Rey says, pleading. She swallows. “I’ve never done it without a condom before.”

“Neither have I,” says Ben. He positions himself, and Rey feels the head of him pressing against her puffed lips. Ben stops there for now, closing his eyes and just sliding the blunt head over her slit, back and forth, breath coming in short. Rey raises her hips just a bit against him, and the head of his cock starts to glide in.

“Fuck,” Ben swears, going rigid. “It’s like- moving through water.”

“Come into me,” Rey murmurs. Her brief stab of anxiety is gone, and now she’s just antsy to have him, to feel him ridged and warm against her insides. To feel had and known. “I want to fit you.”

“You’ll fit me,” Ben promises, and he starts to push in.

In some ways, it’s not much different than having a condom. Rey is so soaked right now that even the thickest of latex would probably glide down her cunt like a gondola. There’s a little less friction than there’s been in the past. Psychologically, she’s never felt so acutely that she’s naked against Ben and he’s naked against her; it’s like his unsheathed cock has completed the skin against skin that she’s always craved. But it’s different for  _ him _ , she can easily tell. His face goes so still when he moves into her; she can feel his chest freeze as he stops breathing. Her legs are still wrapped around him, but now she cradles his face as well, coaxing him. She feels it when he takes his first breath.

“Rey,” he says tightly. It’s just her name, but it’s enough.

Then he leans down and kisses her, and  _ this  _ is definitely different, the way he can’t move too fast so he kisses her slowly as well. They get comfortable, his long, naked body stretched out along hers so that they can touch at the same time he carefully pumps. His arms cage her in and she’s breathing him in, she’s feeling him, tasting his skin, all while his cock is the slow beating heart of the world pulsing in and then out, in and then out. She can hear all the sweet sticky sounds of their kisses, of him sliding inside her. It mixes in with the heady hot feeling of touching and fucking...but no. This isn’t just fucking or just having sex, it’s not even close. Rey is wrapped too deliciously up into Ben, their kisses are sweet, time is moving too slow. Ben murmurs low, impossible things in her ear as he strokes within her, and Rey feels a moment of panic. 

She’s so close to repeating the mistake that she made with the line cook. She’s so close to saying one truth that she cannot take back.

“I love-” she blurts out, breath hitching. The panic swells in her, and she changes her phrase.

“I love how this feels,” she says instead, thumb and forefinger trailing the ridge of Ben’s ear. He turns his face and licks at the lobe of hers.

“I love it inside you,” he rumbles, his breath a faint groan in her ear. “I love how we feel.”

Rey gasps softly and squeezes her eyes tight, letting the wild, sweeping feeling inside of her transform his words into what she wants to hear.

“Cum in me,” she whispers to him, squeezing her legs around his waist. “Cum in me, please.”

Ben makes a strained sound of pleasure. “You want me to?” he moans. “Ask me again.”

“I want you in me,” Rey says fiercely. “I want you to drip out of me because I’m so full, make me yours...”

Ben moans again. His hips jerk in a few faster, staggering, bursts, then his whole torso cramps as the orgasm hits. “Rey,” he gasps, holding her tight, pelvis pumping. Rey can picture his cum splashing inside of her, pooling and ready to seep. Ben shudders against her, helplessly moving for several long seconds after completion. He drops his head into the hollow of her neck and wordlessly gathers her to him, dropping his weight to the side so he doesn’t pull out, but his bulk doesn’t smother her. They end up in a graceless heap, tangled together. Rey doesn’t care. 

Eventually, Ben stirs against her. “What’s your favorite color,” he mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“Your favorite color.”

Rey smiles in surprise, startled out of her daze. She kisses the top of his head. “Blue,” she says.

He shifts his head somewhat so they can make eye contact. “So you liked my sweater? That I wore to the beach?”

Rey's smile broadens. “What do you think?”

He tucks his face back into her neck. “I think that you liked it,” he says, voice muffled.

Rey nuzzles her face against his hair. “No, I loved it.”

_ I love you _ , she thinks. But some truths she’s not ready to say yet. Someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was something kinda weird and wild and organic that sprang up from my mind this weekend, I hope you enjoyed! Or is enjoyed the right word? I try to keep my smut, angst, and fluff fairly balanced, but this may have been too strong on one of those flavors. Basically, I felt that Rey and Ben had to level up their relationship to fully incorporate Ben's episode at the end of last chapter- for Rey, that looks like admitting (to herself) that she loves Ben and is willing to wait, for Ben that looks like him compensating for Rey in other areas (like giving her the Leia!Apron!).
> 
> As of now I'm just a few kudos shy of 1k, which is totally wild, and I still can't wrap my head around it. Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's been reading, commenting, and sharing this work! You keep me inspired to write <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that Rey is a tease? Because she is totally a tease.

A week goes by, and lilacs start blooming in Brooklyn. Tiny front yards that were dull brown and dead in the winter now have potted plants lining the steps, or dogwoods flowering by the recycling bins. Evenings are noisier with more people out and about, sitting on stoops or walking leisurely through the shy pre-May sunshine. Like them, Rey is tempted to spend all of her free time roaming Crown Heights. Between school and First Order and Ben (mostly Ben) she has lots of excuses, but she forces herself to spend at least 3 nights a week up in Washington Heights instead. Finn and her thirsty poinsettia are always happy to see her, and it’s practical to live in the space that she’s paying for, after all. Still, her own little room starts feeling smaller and emptier each time she visits; she starts feeling restless to leave. Luckily Finn feels the same way.

“I can’t wait to graduate,” he grumbles one night, surrounded by books. “Once I don’t have to go to Columbia, I can move anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” Rey teases.

Finn colors slightly. “Anywhere a little closer to Poe,” he admits. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “Either that, or one of us invents a teleporter.”

“Are you kidding?” Rey leans back from her laptop, her certification research still glowing on the screen. “I _love_ my commute,” she boldly lies. Finn shoots her a knowing look and she snorts, breaking her facade.

“Put it this way,” Rey amends. “If I build the teleporter, it’s going straight to Crown Heights.”

“Not right into Ben’s apartment?”

Rey plays it cool, but her heart leaps at the thought. “Sure,” she says casually. “You can have Poe pick you up from there.” 

Rey gets back to her research, secretly relieved that Finn is comfortable enough to joke about Ben. Her manager had joined them again for pre-work drinks at D’Qar earlier this week, and while the two men are light-years away from cozying up, Ben had started a conversation with Finn of his own volition. That was likely a side effect of their fateful chicken parm dinner, but Rey isn’t complaining; it thrilled her to see Ben making the effort, thrilled her enough that after their First Order shift that night she’d pushed him flat onto a counter and shown him the full depths of her appreciation. Just to reward good behavior, of course. 

The combination of Rey’s restlessness and Ben’s good behavior leads her to start browsing apartments in Crown Heights. _Just in case_ , she tells herself, just to know what her options are in advance. _If_ she gets a job at her school, _if_ she and Finn move in the Fall, _if_ she and Ben don’t fall apart. Her tentative scouting yields pretty grim results, though. Brooklyn’s gentrification has hiked up rental prices, and the few apartments in her price range all have serious drawbacks hidden in the fine print. She’d caved and vented about it to Ben one day, which might have been a mistake; the lifelong Crown Heights resident has almost _too_ much insight about his neighborhood. 

As she’s finding out on this fine Tuesday afternoon.

“Not that building,” Ben says, eyes closed. He’s supposedly taking a nap on the couch, but Rey keeps calling out addresses and he has a swift answer for each one. None of them good.

“Why not?” Rey asks, squinting down at the Craigslist ad on her phone. She’s curled up on the recliner, still wearing her dress from school. “It’s pet friendly,” she adds.

Ben snorts. “Too friendly. Exterminators are always parked outside. Either that or protesting tenants.”

“Ummm, ok, what about...” Rey reads off a new listing.

“Not that block.”

“What’s wrong with that block?” Rey huffs, somewhat exasperated. This is the sixth one he’s shot down.

“If you want to find a cop car in this neighborhood, it’s parked on that block,” Ben says, opening his eyes. When she just looks at him mutinously, he raises his eyebrows. “It’s not safe. You shouldn’t live there.”

Rey sets aside his concern and the warm glowing feeling it gives her for later contemplation. “It’s so cheap, though,” she says wistfully. “It’s a one bedroom, gas stove, only a second floor walk-up…”

“Rey.” Ben gives her a look. “There are other options.” 

“Not really,” Rey says, sighing. “Not in my price range.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not that I actually _know_ what my price range is, yet.”

It’s the biggest issue that she keeps running into: her mystery budget. Rey knows that her school wants to hire her on, but she doesn’t know what role they’ll hire her for and what her salary will be. She’s so absorbed with the problem, it doesn’t even occur to her to feel awkward talking about money with Ben. 

Rey looks up at the ceiling and lists her options out loud: “I could be a para at school really easily, but I’d only be making 30k, probably. I could be afterschool staff of some kind, but that’s going to be maybe 40k? 50? If I’m really lucky?” She bites her lip, thinking. “The teachers start at 70k, but I can’t teach for real until I have a degree, and that’ll be four years and so much money. Too much money. Assuming any college will even accept me.”

“Of course they will,” Ben says with an audible frown.

Rey only shrugs, still averting her eyes. “Maybe Rose and her sister want an extra roommate,” she says glumly, dispirited. “Or Finn. That’s the only way I’ll be able to afford a place here as a para.” 

She hears Ben shift on the couch. “What if you didn’t pay rent?” he asks.

Rey frowns abstractly, still lost in thought. “What?” she says faintly. 

“What if you didn’t have to pay rent?” he repeats.

Rey glances at Ben, mouth opening to tell him that’s stupid, that’s like asking her _what if she didn’t have to eat?_ Then her brain catches up to her. Her mouth shuts abruptly. _Ben_ certainly doesn’t pay rent, since he owns this building. A thousand silly things she’s imagined flit through her mind all at once and she feels her pulse throb in the hollow of her throat. Maybe, possibly, could he be implying…?

“Um,” Rey manages.

Ben turns onto his stomach, hiding his face in his arms before Rey can get a good look. “Just something to keep in mind,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “When you’re looking. Pretend rent isn’t a factor and decide what matters to you.”

_Living with people I care about,_ thinks Rey truthfully, staring at his broad back. But she’s not going to say it out loud. It would be a huge presumption, assuming it’s an option that she could move in with him. A huge presumption to think that he was implying she could. They’ve only known each other since November, it’s not like they...no. Definitely not. Regardless of the events of the other night, it still would be foolish.

Unnerved, Rey takes a deep breath and decides to steer the conversation into lighter waters. “Why should I take your advice anyway?” she jokes gamely. “You’ve never had to look for an apartment before.”

She sees one of his shoulders hike slightly, a shrug. “You don’t have to,” he says, “but I like hearing about the options.”

Rey considers his words for a moment, glad to be drawn out of her own woes for a minute. “I guess it must be strange,” she says slowly, “not being able to choose where you live. You growing up here and all.” She frowns. “Though, I guess if you really wanted to you could just sell this place and buy a Manhattan penthouse, or some crazy mansion in Iowa or something.”

Ben grunts, head still turned. “Iowa?” he says faintly.

Rey smiles even though he can’t see it. “There’s a Waffle House in Dubuque that’s in _desperate_ need of a manager,” she says. She sees his shoulders hitch in a soundless laugh, and that gets her up and out of the recliner. 

“Imagine how many pies you would eat at the local pie-eating contest,” she jokes, planting a knee on the couch. She unceremoniously flops herself down on top of his back, wriggling herself into place despite his low protesting groan. She strokes back the hair near his ear, grinning now. “You’re gonna grow _so tall_ once we get you corn-fed.”

“Rey.”

“Or have you considered farming? Soybeans, maybe?”

He sighs.

“I could get you some overalls,” she offers innocently.

“Rey,” he says flatly.

She nuzzles her nose into the back of his neck. “Yes, Ben?” 

“I was trying to sleep about an hour ago…”

Rey laughs. She kisses the top of his shoulder then lays her cheek flat on the spot, closing her eyes, absorbing the feel of his long body beneath hers. “Fine,” she says airily, “I can see you’re immune to Iowa’s charms.”

“How about I move to Iowa and you take this building?”

Rey snorts. “Are you kidding? This place has to be worth at least 2 million dollars.” She kind of hates that she’s thought about it before, but she definitely has.

“You can still take it,” Ben mumbles. “I don’t want it.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” he says flatly. She can feel him turn his face into the couch. “No, I don’t.”

“You could sell it.”

“I can’t.”

“But you-”

“Please, Rey.” The specter of their fight briefly raises its head as he cuts off her question. Then, softly: “Sweetheart. Let me rest for a while.”

Rey’s eyes snap open and her breath stills in her chest. Her brain argues that she didn’t just hear what she heard. Ben is not prone to endearments. He’s said her name like it’s something precious, he’s called her a good girl or sweet girl in the throes of sex, but never in a million years would Rey have predicted “sweetheart” to fall from his lips as he’s falling asleep. It makes her cheeks flush hot and cold at the same time. She momentarily forgets her line of questioning.

“O-ok,” Rey stutters instead, voice hushed. She stares blankly at the couch back for a moment, feeling Ben’s back rise and fall under her with each breath. Then, unbidden, a massive, almost painfully bright grin stretches her face as sheer happiness blooms within her. It takes all her willpower not to squirm in delight. 

_Sweetheart_. He called her his sweetheart.

Rey snuggles possessively on top of Ben, and his breathing slows and deepens. The sound of passing cars and pedestrians quietly hums through the windows. A fan, brought out when the temperature spiked last week, is on and whirring quietly, passing over their bodies. Ben slips into an actual nap, and Rey falls blissfully into a doze as well; her dream of domestic peace looks a whole lot like her current reality.

\---

Ben’s endearment floats under Rey’s ribs the following day. It makes her light and focused and happy, so, so happy. It’s inspirational, even. She sends Ben a text in the late afternoon:

<I have to stay late for a conference, but I’ll see you at work!>

Contrary to her text, as soon as school lets out, Rey hops on a train towards downtown Brooklyn. There’s a very particular store she has to visit, and while the prices make her wince slightly, she thinks it’ll be worth it. Honestly, even the sheer rush of glee that she feels, racing out of the store with a pink bag in tow, might justify the chunk of her budget she’s spent. Rey travels back west to Crown Heights; she has just enough time to stop and change in a McDonald’s bathroom before heading to work. It’s a very contradictory sensation; outwardly, she’s wearing a schlubby First Order polo shirt and blue jeans. Underneath that...well, the contrast is odd, but exhilarating. 

“Hi, Rose!” Rey calls cheerily to the cashier as she walks in. “Hi Mitaka!”

Rose laughs at her from behind the counter. “High on life again?” she teases.

“Maybe,” Rey breezes, passing by her co-workers and into the corridor. She hangs her backpack up on an available hook, barely restraining a grin when she hears the door to the manager’s office swing open. She turns and sees Ben leaning against the frame of the doorway, face carefully blank but expectant. Normally, she would walk towards the back kitchen and purposefully brush against him on her way, maybe press a quick kiss to his shoulder. Today, she makes eye contact with him, pointedly looks him up and down...then swivels away, heading back to the front kitchen.

Rey keeps her distance from Ben for the first half of the shift, taking it as a challenge for both him and herself. He swings through the front kitchen more often than usual; she can feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of her head, but she refuses to cave. She can’t keep a small smile from hovering over her lips, though, and the one time they make eye contact by accident, Rey blatantly smirks. Ben’s eyes narrow suspiciously. She’s not surprised when he corners her in the back kitchen a half hour later.

“You,” he says pointedly, “are avoiding me.”

“I am?” Rey asks, all innocence.

Ben cocks his head, studying her. “Yes, you are,” he murmurs. He places one large hand on the counter and leans in slightly, close enough that Rey could kiss him. But she only grins and averts her face.

“We are at _work_ , sir,” she teases quietly, shaking her head in mock disappointment. Her eyes are aglow, the mischief in them clearly inviting.

“Ah,” says Ben, a small hungry smile curving lips. “I almost forgot.” He ducks his head closer again and Rey takes an entire step back, clasping her hands behind her like an obedient child keeping away from strange candy.

“ _Very_ inappropriate,” she chides.

Ben looks her over, clearly piqued on a primal level. He looks like he wants to snatch her up in his arms and discipline her, co-workers be damned, and for a breathless moment Rey hopes that he will. It would spoil the surprise, but she wouldn’t mind. Instead, Ben deliberately leans back against the counter and slowly crosses his arms. 

“ _Very_ ,” he agrees stonily. He’s conceding defeat in this battle, but the low smolder in his gaze, the way he’s working his jaw, tells her she hasn’t won the war. _Good_ , she thinks to herself. 

Rey grabs the condiment replacement she’d originally come for and looks up at him. “Duty calls,” she chirps, aiming for sincerity and failing miserably. She makes a broad circle around Ben- out of the reach of his arms- on her way back out of the kitchen. Once she’s safely out of range, though, in the mouth of the corridor, she stalls and looks back at him. Rey squeezes her ranch bottle slightly, squirting a thick stream of cream from the tip. She wipes up the whiteness with a delicate swipe of her finger. Rey makes eye contact with Ben as she slides it into her mouth and sucks hard.

If Ben’s look could kill, then Rey would be dead. Or maybe just thoroughly fucked. It’s a little unclear. 

Rey licks her fingerprint, grinning, and disappears around the corner.

\---

Two hours later, Rey doesn’t knock, she just opens the office door and slides in.

Ben is working at his desk, a pile of receipts scattered across its surface. He looks up tensely, clearly prepared to bite someone’s head off for the interruption. When he sees it’s Rey, though, that tension melts mostly away. He still seems wary after the games she’s been playing tonight, but she _is_ in his office now. His domain.

Ben leans back, a glint in his eyes.

“Ms. Jakku,” he says formally, “what brings you to my office?”

Rey pretends to sigh sadly. She plucks at the hem of her work polo.

“Oh, I’m just having trouble at work.”

Ben runs his hands over his armrests. 

“You are?”

“Mhmm.” Rey looks him dead in the eye.

“What-” Ben clears his throat, proceeds in a rougher voice. “What seems to be the trouble.”

Rey heaves another theatrical sigh, then hoists her shirt up and over her head. She’s wearing one of her new purchases: a midnight blue bralette. It’s a strappy silk number with sheer, lace-twined fabric barely shielding her breasts. She drops her shirt to the floor and looks up at Ben, a twinkle in her eyes.

“I’m not having my needs met,” she pouts.

“I see,” breathes Ben. His gaze rips across her upper body. Rey starts undoing her jeans and Ben, her manager, does nothing to stop her. Rey slips off her shoes and steps out of her jeans, nothing left on her but the bralette and matching lace underwear. It was expensive, of course, but _damn_ it’s worth it for the look on his face. Sometimes it’s the small things, the way his lips part, the way his eyes become _riveted_ to her, like an animal, or a change in his tone…

Rey’s standing almost naked in his office, a fully staffed shift running per usual behind the wooden door. She doesn’t think about that. She thinks instead about how Ben’s face has flushed and his breathing echoes unsteadily in the quiet office. One of his hands has dropped automatically to his crotch, where he rubs himself distractedly.

Rey pads over to the desk and sweeps the receipts off. Still looking at Ben, she boosts herself up and lays down, stretching half-naked in front of him; the hard wood feels like a feather bed.

Ben looks like he’s going to die of happiness.

“Do you like these?” Rey asks idly, running her fingers across the thin lace. Ben nods, eyes hungrily tracing her body.

“Me too.” Rey circles her nipple where it’s poking the fabric. “Lots of texture. It _feels_ nice.” She trails her hand down to the netting over her crotch. 

Still, when he reaches for her, Rey playfully bats his hand away.

“I’m not looking for something quick,” she says pointedly. “You’d better make sure that we won’t be disturbed.”

Ben looks at her dumbly, stretched out warm and soft and tempting within his grasp. He stands up mechanically, running a hand through his hair.

“Stay,” he manages, pointing at her.

“Wouldn’t dream of moving,” purrs Rey.

Ben strides away, pausing only at the bookshelf to pick up a paperweight. He yanks open the door and slams it behind him. 

From her makeshift bed, Rey hears him bellow indignantly.

“Who left the _fucking fridge open!!”_

Rey winces sympathetically; leaving the walk-in fridge door ajar is everyone’s nightmare. Something shatters outside; maybe a paperweight? It’s followed in quick succession by a series of slams. The sound of chatter from the public seating noticeably dims. Rey knows that she shouldn’t, but she giggles into the palm of her hand.

“ _This_ has probably gone bad, _this_ is bad, _this_ is bad _-”_

Ben’s voice rises in anger. There’s a crash with every “this,” a loud dunk into the trash.

_“_ I’m surrounded by fucking _incompetents._ ”

Silence, except for the store playlist.

“Mitaka, clean this shit up! And prep some replacements!”

A timid voice: “Y-yes sir!”

Heavy footsteps pound towards the office, then the door is thrown open again and Ben returns, looking furious. He slams the door shut behind him and leans back against it, long hair mussed and eyes a little wild. He takes a deep breath, visibly steadying himself. Then he exhales in one gust, turning his gaze towards Rey.

“Think that bought us some time?” he asks quietly.

Rey laughs. She stretches her arms up and out towards him.

Ben is there in a heartbeat, falling on her like a ravening wolf. Rey rises to meet him, mouth parting to take in his tongue, to capture his lips with her own in the crash. She spreads her legs wide to let him in between. One of his hands roves over her breasts, squeezing them through the thin fabric.

“Like a present,” Ben mutters against her lips, pushing his crotch towards her warmth.

“All yours,” Rey murmurs back, fingers scraping his jaw. She thrusts her pelvis up to meet his, craving the friction.

Ben swears, removing his hand from her breast and bringing it down to fumble with his belt. Time is of the essence and they both know it; in sweaty seconds he’s lowered his pants and pulled his cock free over his underwear.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he says with a lingering kiss. “ _My_ present.”

Excitement leaps low in Rey’s belly. She moans and spreads her legs wider.

Reaching down between them, Ben pulls Rey’s underwear to one side with large fingers, savoring the scrape of the lace. He caresses her slit through the sheer netting, stroking himself with his free hand as his cock grows to full length. 

“You like it?” Rey breathes.

Ben only nods, eyes dark and intent. She can see how much he likes it when his thick, swollen cock has filled up his hand. He guides its head to her entrance, sliding it back and forth down the channel of her lips over the fabric, giving her time to work up lubrication. The lace sticks and scrapes and Rey moans when he circles over her clit. 

“Shhh,” says Ben, putting his other hand over her mouth. “I’m getting your pretty lace dirty,” he croons. He holds Rey down by the face, other hand moving himself back and forth, over and over. Slick springs up from her folds like oil from a well. Ben’s hair hides his eyes, so Rey watches his lips instead, reddened from kissing.

“You’re going to take it,” he murmurs. “You’ll take all of my cock like you’re meant to.”

Rey nods as much as she can under the pressure of his hand. Ben suddenly lets go of his cock so he can strip off her underwear, one-handed. Rey lifts her ass to help him, and then she’s totally bare, spread wide and flush on her manager’s desk. Ben starts pushing the head of his cock home, the tip slipping just past her lips. He rocks it in and out slightly, barely moving his hips, gaze intent on the sight of it coming out wetter and wetter. Rey groans against his palm, feeling moisture pool deep inside her, in her unfilled spaces. She hoists her legs up around Ben’s waist, further impaling herself in the process.

“No, Rey,” Ben pants. He pulls himself out. “I give you this cock. I’m the boss, understand?”

Rey nods frantically, eyes wide. Her cunt is pulsing, demanding to be filled.

“You want-” Ben slides himself back in, deeper. Stutters. “You want me in you, you have to earn it. To deserve it.”

Rey groans, pushing her hips up to meet him, match him, pull him in. Ben thrusts to meet her, finally sliding in to the hilt. He groans and bends his head over Rey, slipping his fingers off of her lips.

“Does that feel good, Rey?” he murmurs, eyes closed to better savor her. “Do you like my present?”

“Yes,” Rey gasps, careful to be quiet.

“Do you- love this- cock, Rey?” Ben is building the tempo already, his thighs starting to slap against her buttocks. “Does it- feel good like this? On my desk?” 

“Yes,” Rey groans. She scrapes her nails over his chest, hard enough to mark him underneath. Ben just grunts and starts fucking her harder. The hand that once guided his cock is now gripping Rey’s ass, holding her close in position as he thrusts.

The tiny office is starting to heat up. Rey dimly wonders if it’ll smell like sex, afterwards, or if she’ll smell like it once they’re done. She wonders if anyone outside has missed her yet. She wonders if anyone will be able to tell if she’s just fucked their manager in the main office. The thought only makes her wetter.

“I wanna flip over,” she pants, squeezing Ben’s bicep to get his attention.

He pulls back his hand, slaps her ass.

“Ask nicely,” he growls, punctuating with an especially deep thrust.

Rey wriggles on his cock, biting her lip to keep from moaning. “Please,” she whispers, light as air, ass tingling, “Please, sir, will you fuck me from behind?”

Ben grunts, pulling himself free and dropping her ass back onto the desk. Rey scrambles over onto her hands and knees, scooping her back and spreading her legs invitingly wide. She glances back at Ben over her shoulder, hair falling out of her buns in long messy wisps.

“God,” groans Ben, “Just- stay like that for a minute.” He grabs himself around the base of his cock, squeezing hard, eyes devouring her. Rey takes the moment to reach back and rub her clit, prepping herself for the new position.

She isn’t ready when Ben’s hands grab her by the dimples above her ass, pressing her down forcefully onto the table. Rey scrambles to adapt, falling flat onto her chest and scooting herself back so her feet can drop onto the floor. Ben keeps his hands where they are and steps closer, a familiar heat right behind her. He slides himself back home in her cunt and they both moan in satisfaction. He starts thrusting, slotting at a new angle.

“Don’t make noise,” he grits out.

“Hyp- hypocrite,” pants Rey, bobbing back and forth with the force of Ben’s motion. He leans forward and scoops up a handful of breast from behind, fingers flexing over the brand new bra.

“You look so good, Rey,” Ben moans near her ear. “Just imagine how good you’d look if someone walked in.”

Rey gasps, viscerally clenched with arousal; her cunt must have tightened, because Ben drops his head to her shoulder and bites down to stifle a cry. Rey feels a pulsing heat rippling her core and starts fucking back against him to encourage it. Ben seems to notice the change through his haze and he builds his own urgency. Rey’s lost in her inner propulsion, whole crotch on fire from the thought of someone else walking in, when Ben suddenly slips out.

“Hey!” Rey gasps, looking back in surprise. He’s switched to his hand, briskly rubbing himself.

“Where do you want it,” Ben asks, low. His gaze is debauched.

Rey turns and sits so she’s right on the edge of the desk, legs dangling off of the edge. She reaches up and shrugs off her bra straps. The fabric falls from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the warm air, nipples peaked.

“Right here,” she says, thrusting her chest forward. Ben’s gaze falls greedily from her face to her breasts, and his hand picks up speed. Rey feels a wicked smile curl her lips.

“I want it right here under my shirt,” she teases, “No one will know that I’m dripping except us.”

Ben groans, and a few seconds later he erupts onto Rey’s chest. The clear streaky trails drizzle over her collarbones, running in rivulets. Rey runs her fingertips through the warm mess; she waits until she has his attention before popping a finger into her mouth to suck dry.

With a heavy sigh, Rey’s manager sinks to his knees on the floor in front of her, leaning his overheated forehead against her bare thigh.

“You’ve been planning this all night?” he asks wearily.

“All day,” smirks Rey, licking her lips. “The conference was a lie.”

Ben shakes his head slightly. “I don’t deserve you,” he rasps. 

“Probably not,” says Rey. Ben looks up at her, startled, and her smile softens. She runs her clean fingers fondly through his hair.

“Well,” she clarifies, “you won’t deserve me unless you finish getting me off while my chest dries.”

Relief floods Ben’s brown eyes, and he bends his head eagerly. Rey sighs and lays back on the desk, feeling the first blood-warm laps of his tongue on her slit.

  
 _Worth every penny_ , she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Sorry this chapter took a little longer than expected to finish; I wrote 50 pages for another AU idea I've been having, and I foolishly thought that having written part of this in advance would make it faster to pull together. But I hope you enjoyed the fluff and extra at-work smut! I really wanted to get these scenes in before the plot progresses any further, as I'm afraid to say things are getting darker on the horizon. Thank you so, SO much to all the people who have been reading this fic as it twists and turns, leaving such lovely comments and encouragement. I'm really proud of how many people have read this, and it means the world to me that you're still reading.
> 
> Stay safe and sane, and see you next week <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's POV, or, how to be in love while being too dumb to recognize you've fallen in love

“Ben.”

“Hmm?”

“This isn’t helping.”

“Yes it is. I’m helping you get undressed.”

Rey sighs. “Then at what point do my clothes come off?”

“In a minute.” Ben sweeps his hand over her ass. “Your pants are halfway down.”

“Doesn’t count,” Rey mumbles into the bedspread.

It’s right after their shift at First Order, the same night Rey had decided to tease him. Had the audacity to keep him at arm’s length for hours and then strip in his office wearing _that_. Wearing _this._ Ben is currently sitting on the edge of his bed with his employee stretched face down over his lap. His left hand lightly holds her by the scruff of her polo shirt. His right hand has pulled down her pants just enough that her pert, lace covered behind is exposed where it lays over his thighs. Now he’s obsessively handling her there, stroking across the blue netting and lace.

“You’re right, this _is_ a nice texture.”

“Ben-” Rey begins. Ben smacks her ass. She cuts off with a yelp.

“Shh,” he says, resuming his gentle massage. It doesn’t escape him that Rey shivers in place. “You’ve been teasing me all night.”

“Not _all_ night,” Rey sulks. Ben slaps her ass lightly again, because he can. Because this beautiful woman will let him.

Rey whimpers softly on his lap, almost enough on its own to send his blood trickling south. “We could do this on your desk, too,” she adds somewhat breathlessly. “Next time.”

Ben groans, half irate, half aroused. _Next time,_ she says. What they did tonight was risky, ridiculous, probably a health code violation or three...and she can’t wait to do it again. Neither can he, which is worse. The sight of her sprawled on his desk in dark lace is worth suffering terrible consequences. He’ll be filing that image away, alongside the one of her slick smearing the stainless steel countertop in the back kitchen. And the red-cheeked, startled way she had first panted “I’m yours” under fluorescent lights.

“If we get caught,” Ben says, shaking himself free of that memory, “it’s going to look terrible. People will think I’ve been threatening or soliciting you. We’d both be reported.” He says it out loud to remind both of them that this isn’t all fun and games, but Rey only wriggles over his lap in a way that derails his thoughts momentarily; she’s giving him leverage to pull down her jeans. He can’t help but oblige. 

“How could they think I don’t want it when I’ll be begging for you?” she pants.

Ben’s cock twitches beneath her, inflamed by _that_ mental image. He exhales carefully; he wants to land this point before getting carried away. “You know what I mean, Rey,” he says, large hand stilling on the back of her thigh.

She touches his other hand where it still holds her neck. “I know,” she says lightly. Her fingertips brush against his own. _Delicate._

“Are you just being obstinate, then?”

Rey raises her bottom a half inch higher, closing her eyes. “Right now, yes.” He can hear the smile return to her voice. “Especially if you might slap me.” 

Ben shakes his head, exasperated and entranced and absorbed by the woman in his lap, as he usually is. “No, no more slaps,” he growls quietly, starting to shift. He slides the hand on her ass down under her cheeks, dipping beneath and between. His eyes glaze as his whole attention falls into what he feels there: body heat, coarse hair, sheer lace, and then- he nudges the fabric aside- the softest, wet, promising edge. Ben closes his eyes and strokes his middle finger along it. Rey moans softly and he shifts his finger further, until it rests on the juicy heart of her cunt. He rides his fingertip over the smooth liquid slick, almost oblivious to how his own body’s reacting to her reaction. Then he slips his finger inside, curling deeply; her ass is raised by the angle of his forearm as he catches her there. Ben exhales and starts moving in and out, never fully leaving her heat. Rey whimpers when he pushes in two more digits.

“Shhh,” he soothes. His left hand curls into her hair as his right hand works her cunt. “Just take it, sweetheart. Let me fuck you like this.”

Rey moans and nods, hips hitching over his lap. Ben’s fingers pick up the pace and he can hear her: those soft, wet, sucking noises as he fingers her.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, massaging her scalp. He’s the luckiest man in the world at this moment, consequences be damned. “My good, good girl.” 

\---

It scares him, sometimes, how much he wants her. Ben normally excels at hiding things from himself, but even he can’t ignore the effect Rey is having on him. The way it’s started to hurt when she says “I’m going home” and means Washington Heights. The way he’s started to joke more, because he likes making her laugh. The way he can lose whole minutes of time watching sun slant through the blinds and light her face in his bed. Sometimes he catches himself laughing with her and doesn’t even recognize himself; it makes him think about flowers blooming on the moon, impossible growth in a desert. There’s a lightness in him that rises to meet her.

The worst part about it is that he starts to hope. Rey reads him apartment listings and all he can think of is that she’s home _now._ She’s here with him, and he stumbles right on the edge of asking her to stay. Old caution keeps him from being so bold; that and a dark, insistent voice in his mind. _You don’t deserve that_ , Snoke had said just a few weeks ago. _People like_ you _take what they can get._ If that’s true- and it’s true- then Ben wants Rey to be what he gets. He wants these strange days of happiness to tide him over for the long years ahead after Rey has moved on. He hopes that she’ll leave him for an innocent reason; she’ll get bored of him, maybe, or the age difference will become an issue. Whatever the reason, Ben already knows that he won’t be willing or able to replace her; she’s water wearing a path through his rock, and once rock is eroded, it crumbles.

Still, he does some things, foolish things, while he waits for the end. He braves the dead room to get her an apron. He calls her sweetheart, which feels right and familiar, almost like it’s been hovering on the cusp of his thoughts. And one day he finds himself ticking through his list of employees.

Connix? _A follower._

Snap? _Too good where he is._

Mitaka? _Never._

Rey? _She’d be suited to it, but that would make things even worse._

Ben sits in his First Order office during a weeknight shift, frowning up at the ceiling as he cycles through the staff of the day shift, the night shift, and then back again. He glances over at the budget spreadsheets laid out on his desk, triple-checking his math and refreshing himself on the salary number. Then, sighing, he gets up from his chair and walks over to the office door, opening it. His professional mask seamlessly slides into place as he strides out into the corridor. 

In the front kitchen, business is humming along at a reasonable rate. Rose is working register while Rey mans the griddle and fryer and Mitaka finishes the in-store and to-go orders. Ben’s eyes flick over the customers waiting to be served; it’s around 11pm and the store is at a comfortable 40% capacity. Perfect timing for a short conversation.

“Rose,” he calls, and all three employees turn their heads to look at him. Ben is careful, as always, to keep his gaze from drawing towards Rey.

“Yes, sir?” says the cashier, subtly tense around the eyes.

“Come to my office when you have a moment.” Ben relents and looks over at Rey. “Rey, cover the register while she’s meeting with me.”

Rey nods but looks perplexed, and Rose seems even more anxious at his request, though she pastes on one of her ready smiles. “Ok!” she chirps cheerfully. Ben just nods and turns to head back into his office; he’s certain that behind his back, an agitated pantomime is taking place between his unsettled underlings.

Rose shows up in his office precisely 6 minutes later, wiping her hands on her thighs. Ben is back in his stiff leather chair; he knows that sitting in the one chair in the room can come off as intimidating- lord knows Snoke uses this setup to similar effect- but Rey has mentioned that when he stands in this small space it’s even worse. Normally Ben wouldn’t particularly care about making an underling nervous, but he needs this conversation to go well. 

“You wanted to see me?” Rose says gamely. Ben surveys her silently for a moment, mentally cataloguing all he knows about the small, fiery woman. Rey has told him that she has a sister, and that the two Ticos are looking to open up a restaurant of their own. That makes Rose a flight risk, but on the other hand, most people are flight risks in fast food. The fact that food is a family business for Rose actually makes it more likely that she’ll be a restaurant lifer, like Ben. He’s almost sorry to ask her to waste more time on First Order than she already has.

“Yes,” Ben says finally, clearing his throat. “I’ve never given you a performance review.”

Rose’s eyebrows go up.

“A...performance review?”

“Yes.” Ben steeples his fingers from habit and gazes steadily at the cashier. “I apologize.”

Rose glances nervously to either side, like she’s expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and explain this has all been a set up. The crew doesn’t show, though, and Ben is still watching her calmly like he didn’t just say he was sorry for the first time in the year they’ve been working together. Rose takes a steadying breath and leans back against the bookshelf.

“Ok,” she says slowly. “Apology accepted.” She swallows. “Are you firing me?”

Ben’s brow creases; is he doing this wrong? “No,” he says firmly. “Here’s your review: you’re a hard worker, and extremely reliable. You’re excellent at handling customers and cultivating regulars. Setbacks do not actually set you back, and you’re quick to step in and mentor new hires without me actually asking.” Ben sits back in his chair and drums his fingers absently on the desktop. “I feel more confident about a shift if I know that you’ll be working it,” he says, “and while I don’t imagine you’ll stay on at First Order forever, I think you’re an asset to the store that should be developed.” Rose is just staring at him, so Ben cocks his head and stops drumming his fingers. “Have I not said this to you before?”

Rose shakes her head.

“I’d like to promote you to manager,” he says clearly, in case his other words haven’t gotten through.

Rose glances to the side again. The camera crew still fails to appear.

Ben purses his lips and continues. “It would start with me training you two nights a week,” he says almost testily, somewhat peeved at her lack of response, “but once you have the hang of it, which will likely be soon given your skill level, we’ll split the shifts half and half.” Ben uses the silence between them to tick through his mental checklist. “Ah,” he adds, “and your hourly rate will go up to the managerial rate as soon as you accept. If you accept, which I suppose you could not. You don’t have to.”

Rose still looks flummoxed; she crosses her arms tightly over her stomach. “So,” she says finally, faintly, “you’re not firing me?”

Ben frowns. “I’m promoting you, Rose,” he says. “If you’d like to be promoted. You can take a few days and let me know either way.”

“Yes,” Rose blurts, “I mean, yes, I’d like the promotion! If you’re actually offering it. I would love that. That would be great. This is great,” she trails off, talking more to herself. She looks dazed.

Ben allows himself a small smile. “Good,” he says crisply. “I’ll get the paperwork ready and you can sign it next shift.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Rose says. She looks like she wants to say more, but stops herself. Instead, she treats him to a genuine smile, one that lights up her face and crinkles her eyes. Ben feels a slight stir of pride at being the cause of it, and at the same time realizes this may be the first time he’s made one of his employees happy- besides Rey. It’s a strange feeling.

“You earned it,” Ben says gruffly, burying the moment. “Back to work.”

Rose practically floats out the door, closing it reverently behind her. Ben allows himself a few breaths to feel satisfied that his gamble paid off; then, true to his word, he starts drawing up paperwork. That’s what he’s still doing 10 minutes later when Rey barges in.

“What did you _do_?” she asks breathlessly, shutting the door quickly behind her. 

Ben looks up, paused with his pen in midair. “What?”

“What did you say to Rose?” Rey insists. She looks angry, face curled up into a protective scowl. “She came back looking like you just poleaxed her,” Rey snaps, hands on her hips, “and then I just caught her crying in the back kitchen.”

“Crying?”

“Yes, _crying_ ,” Rey growls. “Or sniffling, anyway. She said they were happy or something but it didn’t make sense.”

“Oh,” Ben says, feeling a little out of his depth. Rey glares at him, crackling with annoyance. “I...promoted her,” he says tentatively.

Rey blinks. Her body doesn’t immediately unfurl. “You did what?”

Ben sits back in his chair, fiddling with the pen. “I promoted her,” he says slowly to mask his rising anxiety. Is Rey offended that Rose got the job instead of her? “I thought that maybe…” His fingers clench on the pen; maybe this was a bad idea after all. He clears his throat. “If Rose is a manager,” he explains, “then she can work half the night shifts. I thought maybe that way we...wouldn’t have to rush dinner. If I had some nights off.”

Ben glances warily back at Rey, who’s still standing in place with her hands on her hips.

“You-” she says, faintly, visibly thinking through what he’s said. Then, abruptly, her lips split into the biggest, brightest grin Ben had ever hoped to see. “ _You_ ,” she says again, a complete sentence. She starts walking towards Ben and his anxiety hovers uncertainly.

“Is that-”

Rey laughs over his words. She grabs Ben by the face and leans down to plant a warm, lingering kiss on his lips, one that’s stretched by her smile. Ben returns it, the anxiety starting to thaw in his chest, especially when Rey pulls back and beams down at him. He reaches to hold her hips, pen dropping to the floor.

“Was it a good idea?’” he asks quietly, wanting to hear it.

“Yes,” she says happily. “I guess even you have them.”

Ben kisses her, and hopes that she’s right.

\---

Two nights later, Ben dreams that he’s in his apartment. He’s standing in the kitchen right by the island, and a huge pot of pasta sauce gently bubbles on the stove. Rey is wearing his grandmother’s apron, stirring it. Her hair is pulled up in an elaborate braid.

“Sweetheart,” Ben says, and he steps forward to hug her from behind.

Rey leans into his arms and looks up at him, smiling; her body is warm. Then the smile becomes sad. “That’s not my name,” she says gravely.

Ben blinks. He looks behind him, instinctively, and the apartment has changed. The walls are a warm golden yellow and the floors are carpeted now. His dark couch has been replaced by a brown, lumpy one. A little boy with black hair and big ears rides a rocking horse near the clunky TV; he’s laughing and pretending to shoot back at pursuers. Ben drops his arms, confused, eyes riveted on the boy.

_Wake up._

“Are you going to stir that or watch it?” chides his mother. Ben turns his head and sees Leia standing near the old fridge, wearing the red apron. Rey has disappeared. His mother’s face is the same as it was years ago, but her hair is bright white. Her eyes are uncanny.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Ben says truthfully. His gut churns with dread when he hears his voice speaking; it’s not his own. It’s gravelly and wry, lighter in tone.

_Wake up._

“Go wash up, it’ll be ready soon,” says Leia, walking to the pot to give it a stir. The tomato sauce has turned darker red. The bubbling is somehow no longer domestic. Ben turns away slowly, his hands clenching and unclenching. The little boy is not rocking anymore; he’s staring right at Ben with dark, solemn eyes, eerily still. Ben starts walking mechanically towards the hallway and down it. It seems long, much longer than it should be, and the ceiling keeps rising higher and higher. The bathroom light is already on in the distance, the door left ajar. Ben finally enters, breathing with great difficulty. He washes his hands in the sink, staring down at them: old, wrinkled hands. Thick and callused, spattered with oil burns. A wedding band on the ring finger.

_Wake UP._

Ben’s gorge rises, but he knows that he must raise his head. The mirror before him is foggy like someone’s just taken a shower; mist surrounds him like a smothering fog. It starts to dissipate, slowly, showing him his reflection. He can’t tear his eyes away as it clears. 

At first it’s just him, just Ben in the mirror. He’s staring back at himself and there’s a whine in the air like a kettle that’s starting to whistle. Then his eyes become glassy. The whine rises, starting to screech. Blood leaks from his lips, dripping in red waves and coating his chin. His face is starting to change, starting to become-

_WAKE UP._

His mother appears in the mirror behind him. Her pose is like Munch’s “Scream” painting: eyes that are black holes, skin white like blank paper. Her lips are as red as his chin and horrifically gaping, the source of the inhuman shriek that’s been rising. She’s screaming, she’s _screaming, she’s screaming at him and_ _WAKE UP BEN WAKE UP_ -

Ben jolts straight up from his bed with a throat raw from screaming, chest heaving like he’s just been defibrillated. He stares wildly at his dark bedroom, hardly aware that he’s woken. His heart slams against his ribs, his stomach is roiling...he stumbles out of the bed, falling heavily onto his knees on the floor as the sheets snag his limbs. He manages to grab the bedroom trashcan before his stomach lurches and violently empties its contents. 

“Fuck,” he sobs out between retches. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

He can’t bear to look away from the trash, even though his hands shake so badly he can’t keep it still. He wants light, but he can’t bear to move either. Is the boy on the rocking horse in the dead room? Is his mother still roaming the kitchen? Is his fath- _no_ \- is _he_ still in the mirror, if he looked in the bathroom?

Ghosts, ghosts. Everywhere ghosts.

Ben flings the trashcan away from him and it slams into the bedroom wall. Still trembling, he gropes for a discarded pair of shorts and pulls them on, not leaving the ground. He crawls to his end table and feels for the keys on it, slipping them back down and into one pocket. He forces himself to stand, hunched like an animal in his own home. Ben takes a deep breath and moves as quickly as he can force himself to, out his room, down the hall to the living room. He stares down at the floor, hands cupped over his eyes like a visor to keep him from seeing or glimpsing anything, _any_ thing that could make him spiral. 

It’s still pitch black in the apartment. He still puts his sneakers on.

Flipping on every light switch next to the doorway, Ben runs down the stairs and out the door in a panic, bursting into a full-on sprint as soon as his feet hit the pavement. He goes fast enough that the air cools his face, fast enough that maybe his muttering memories can’t coalesce around the nightmare. He runs like he’s trained himself to: to forget, to outdistance, to numb. Ben runs almost 5 miles, non-stop, until he reaches Canarsie Pier on the outskirts of Brooklyn, jutting out into the waters of Jamaica Bay. His throat still feels raw and his body aches, but his hands aren’t trembling anymore.

Thank god Rey was staying at her place tonight. Thank god he didn’t wake up to another crying woman in bed, another spiderweb crack in the headboard.

Ben walks the wooden planks of the pier, letting the sea breeze sweep over his sweat-stained skin. He takes a deep breath and leans against the railing, trying to collect his thoughts. The sun is just starting to rise, and it makes it seem more and more ridiculous that he’s run miles over some stupid nightmare. Nothing real. Nothing permanent. It isn’t even the worst version of that nightmare he’s had in years past; sometimes the little boy kills him. Rey was a new addition to the dream, though, and that makes him uneasy. He often feels that Rey’s presence overwrites the past and makes his apartment bearable; he doesn’t like the thought that the apartment is absorbing her instead, using her as fodder for his nightmares.

Not for the first time, Ben wonders if these are the kinds of thoughts insane people have. He was stupid not to see it all those years ago, how keeping the apartment would kill him slowly like lead. He’d been clinging to the past. Too weak to let go. A _fool_. Snoke had written up the contract accordingly and Ben had signed to keep the building “in perpetuity.” It was “inalienable.” All those fucking long words for “forever” and “never” that he hadn’t bothered to look up at the time, couldn’t even see because his eyes were still swollen and-

_Stop._

Ben scrubs at his face, pulse rising again. His mind sweeps over the debris of the nightmare again, restlessly picking at it for some rationale, some reason it had come out of nowhere to disrupt his sleep. Rey had been there in the dream, and he’d called her...

“Sweetheart,” he mutters out loud. His frown deepens; he turns the endearment around in his mind. It felt so familiar to use it, like he’s already-

A gravelly voice from his memories says _ok sweetheart, I’ll be home at 8._ Fond. Familiar. He only called her princess when they were fighting or mock fighting. Two adults bent towards each other for a goodbye kiss, his mother smiling up at his-

Ben hisses reflexively, pinching the webbing between his thumb and forefinger; he winces, but the pain cuts the memory off. There are some things he absolutely cannot consider, some memories he can’t bear to look upon. His mother sometimes sneaks in through the back door of his defenses, deceptively wrapped in happy packaging. As for the other parent...never. Not even his face. There’s a reason why picture frames were the first things to come down when Ben moved back into his “inalienable” apartment.

_Sweetheart,_ he’d called her.

Ben sighs and flexes his jaw, breaking into a jog heading back towards Crown Heights. He’ll have to stop calling Rey that. He’ll put the red apron back into the dead room. He’ll buy the biggest bottle of melatonin he can find at Duane Reade. He’ll do everything in his power to keep his demons at bay, and then, selfishly, he’ll ask Rey to stay over. He’ll drink in her smile and her touch and her sharp-edged sweetness like it’s water and he’s dying of thirst, and he’ll give her every inch of his wretched self that she’s willing to take in return.

_You know you don’t deserve that_ , sneers Snoke in his mind. _Surely you remember that much._

For once, and for _her_ , Ben shuts out Snoke’s voice with all of the other ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy everyone, I hope you're all doing well! There was some weirdness going on with AO3 emails this weekend so I held off a bit on this chapter. I'm pleased because this chapter executes a couple of plot points that needed to happen, but I hope it doesn't feel too much like we're spinning our wheels! There's a Big Event coming up next and I'm not sure if I'll just bite the bullet and drop it next chapter or add one more lead-up. For everyone's sanity and angst levels, I should probably make it next.
> 
> In case it wasn't clear from Ben's little flashback, he thinks his nightmare may have been triggered by his recent recurring use of "sweetheart," which is what his dad used to call Leia; he didn't really remember that tidbit until now because he's (Jean Ralphio voice) "repressed as fuuuuuuuuuck." Freud would probably have a field day with Ben's nightmare. Also, look at me using "in perpetuity" and "inalienable" like I know what I'm talking about! (I don't. I'm definitely fudging real estate law.)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your kindness in reading this fic. The Reylo world is still such a bright spot in my life and I'm so happy to connect with all you folks through this work. See you next time <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snoke is the worst. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, I just wanted to give a heads up that this chapter is a long one and also Something Big happens and angst levels are high. I'm aware that these past few weeks in particular have been really stressful for most, so if angst is too much for you now, please take care of yourself and come back and read this whenever you're ready <3

Another week passes and May grows into its full potential: air that smells like flowers, weather warm enough for shorts, daydreams about summer vacation for students and teachers alike. Rey picks up on these things and also a shift in Ben’s energy as the month waxes. They’re spending more time together than ever because of his new nights off, but he seems...distracted, somehow. More prone to disappearing into his room while she’s working at his apartment, more likely to be staring into space instead of at the book in his hands. If she had to describe it, Rey would say that it seems like Ben’s chewing on something, digesting some thought that’s creeping into his brain. Whenever she subtly alludes to it, though, or suggests that she could give him some space, Ben immediately turns his full attention on her like a lantern. He’s as voracious as ever when it comes to devouring her body, as intense as ever when he looks into her eyes. She believes him when he says he doesn’t want her to go. 

“You’re not sick of me yet?” Rey teases one day, head laid down in his lap.

“Not yet,” Ben says lightly. But his long-fingered hands wrap more tightly around Rey’s ribcage.

Rey hasn’t mentioned to anyone yet that she’s in love with her manager. It’s a truth that grows roots as the days pass, but Rey convinces herself that it will bloom on its own time. Besides, what if Ben changes his mind? What if their relationship fades when she teaches full time? What if one day she reaches for him and he doesn’t reach back? It feels safer to keep her feelings to herself rather than face that disappointment. 

So the two of them circle around each other in an ever-tightening orbit. Ben cooks when Rey has to stay late for school. Rey rubs his back after he unpacks a late night shipment of First Order supplies. Ben sleepily confirms that her skirt is on straight when she leaves in the morning. Rey talks him into buying new bed sheets that _aren’t_ gray. And for a whole blissful week, they have no idea what’s going to happen.

\---

It’s Monday evening and Rey is stretched out on Ben’s long-suffering couch. Her students took a math test the previous Friday; now that she’s finished grading, she’s creating certificates on her school laptop. The colorful template congratulates a to-be-determined [NAME] for their effort, and now Rey is adding some pizazz to the borders.

“Come look at this,” she calls out, squinting down at the Word doc. “Are these balloons overkill?”

Ben doesn’t reply, so Rey tears her gaze away from her screen, peering over the top of the couch. He was supposedly cleaning the counters before his meeting tonight, but she sees the granite is spotless and he’s leaning against the fridge instead. He seems unnaturally still, face set in that distant expression she’s seen so much of lately. Rey frowns. She’s spent enough time with Ben that she’s used to the occasional nervous twitch of his fingers, but right now his hands are unconsciously clenching and unclenching. As she watches, he shakes his head at some invisible notion and grabs one hand with the other. 

“Hey,” Rey protests, more loudly this time, “you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Ben startles. He glances quickly at her, then down at his hands. He seems vaguely surprised to see he’s been pinching himself between his thumb and forefinger; he shifts his hands apart and anxiously wipes them down the sides of his thighs. Rey keeps watching him, mildly concerned.

“Why don’t you sit down and read or something,” she suggests.

He shakes his head sharply. “The meeting’s in-” he glances at his watch “-a half hour.”

“Who’s it with?”

“Franchise owners,” he mutters, and Rey winces sympathetically. She remembers- vaguely, given how drunk she’d been at the time- the disdainful collection of humorless men who make up the First Order owners. Sitting through their stiff, joyless meeting had been a godawful time for her, and she can imagine that Ben won’t relish his time with them either. That’s probably why he looks miserable. Maybe. She intends to find out.

“Come here,” Rey says gently. She pats the couch cushion next to her, and Ben glances at her askance. She sees him inhale before he walks over to her, somewhat shamefaced. Rey closes her laptop and sets it down on the coffee table; Ben sits next to her with a thump. 

“Let me see that,” Rey murmurs, taking his hand. Ben exhales through his nose but lets her draw his hand towards her; her brow creases when she sees half-moons littered all over the surface of his skin, deep enough that they’re still decompressing. 

“It’s a bad habit,” Ben mumbles. 

“I can _tell_ ,” says Rey, looking up from his hand to his face. She lets go of his hand and shifts so she’s on her knees on the couch. Ben doesn’t protest when she slides onto his lap and sits down, facing him. 

“Why are you so worried about this stupid meeting?” Rey asks, wrapping her hands behind his neck. She rubs her fingers in a subtle massage and Ben closes his eyes and drops his head towards her. 

“It’s probably nothing,” he says quietly, resting his hands on her hips. “Just a bad feeling.”

Rey doesn’t reply. She waits him out, lightly kneading the knots in his neck.

“Snoke will be there tonight,” he adds, finally. His jaw twitches slightly. “He called it because of the party, supposedly.”

“Oh yeah,” Rey says vaguely. Rose had first mentioned First Order’s annual gathering weeks ago: an opportunity for all First Order staff from its various locations to mingle at Snoke’s brownstone in Park Slope. The other crew members have brought it up occasionally since then, but Rey had basically forgotten about it until this past weekend. Rose had gathered the staff around and announced the date during her first solo managing shift.

“It’s this Friday at 8, all you can eat, all you can drink,” Rose had said crisply, ticking off the most relevant details. “But whatever you do, do _not_ drink too much. Some guy puked in a vase last year and Snoke had his pay docked for a month.” The petite woman frowned and idly scratched at her chin. “Actually, you know what? Don’t touch anything while you’re there that’s not on the buffet. It’s all fancy tchotchkes. And try not to trash talk staff from the other locations.”

“Is that why you’re worried?” Rey says to Ben now. She leans back to get a good look at his face. “I can just skip the party if you think that someone might figure us out. I’m not in a rush to see Snoke again anyway,” she adds, grimacing.

“That would help,” Ben says honestly, head still lowered down. “Hux has seen you with me and Snoke’s seen you at the store, I don’t want them to put it together.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rey says decisively. She slides her hands up to his face and raises it gently so he has to look into her eyes. “I won’t go.”

Ben nods, but he still looks unhappy. 

“What else?” Rey prompts, frowning. Ben shifts in his seat.

“Snoke knows about you,” Ben admits finally. “Not who you are, but that I’m seeing someone.” Seeing Rey’s expression, he adds quickly: “I didn’t tell him, Hux did. But he wasn’t happy to hear it.”

Rey’s frown deepens. “Well, that’s none of his business, is it?”

Ben doesn’t respond. 

Slowly, Rey slides off of Ben’s lap and onto the couch next to him. She looks searchingly into his face, trying to read him. “Ben,” she says carefully, “you know it’s not normal for Snoke to have an opinion, right?”

Ben’s lips quirk in a humorless smile. “No?” he says simply.

“ _No_ ,” Rey repeats. Concern seeps in her gut. “It’s really, _really_ not normal.”

“Normal,” Ben repeats, almost to himself; it rings with some kind of importance Rey doesn’t understand. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that...what’s normal.” His jaw works to the side, then he looks over at Rey, gaze haunted. “I don’t really know what it is.”

Rey tries to formulate a response to that unsettling statement, but Ben cuts her off. “How long do you think that I’ve been with First Order?” he asks abruptly.

“Well,” Rey stumbles, surprised by the question, “I don’t know. A few years?”

“Seventeen,” Ben says bluntly. “My first job was at the original location. Snoke gave it to me. How long do you think I’ve been a franchise owner?”

Rey’s mind churns, processing the new information. “A couple of years?” she ventures.

“Fifteen.” 

Rey’s brow crinkles, quickly doing the math. “That doesn’t make sense,” she says, frowning. “You would have been...18. That isn’t possible.”

“No, it’s not _normal_ ,” Ben says darkly, jaw clenched. A low, simmering frustration is seeping into his features. “Do you think that it’s normal,” he asks, “that I’m a manager at my own store? Do you think Hux, or the others you met at the club, seem like they have to work shifts on top of earning their profits?”

“No, I guess not,” Rey says, realizing it for the first time. 

“It isn’t,” Ben says sharply, looking down at his hands. Then, more softly: “It isn’t.” He looks back at her with a glint in his eyes.

“Snoke will be angry that I gave Rose a promotion,” he says evenly, though his fingers are clenching again. “He’ll be angry at me for not working more, he’ll tell me that I’m weak. He’ll chastise me for running my store like it’s _my_ store, and not his.” He shakes his head bitterly, eyes still locked on Rey’s. “I can’t make any decisions, Rey. I can’t hire you, I can’t promote Rose, I can’t quit. I owe him _so much_ ,” he says harshly, twisting the phrase that he once said with respect. “I can’t get out of his debt, and I can’t even move from this building. This _fucking building.”_ Rey recoils at the vicious spike in his voice on those words, and Ben cuts himself off with visible effort. He presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, shoulders tense. Rey wants to touch him but is also afraid to, afraid that he would push her away. It’s quiet on the couch for maybe a full half-minute. Then Ben releases a short, shaky breath and drops both his hands.

“There’s a lot that’s not normal about me,” he says dully.

“Ben,” Rey says softly. She wants to wrap him in her arms and not let him go. She wants to grab Snoke by the throat and demand that he confess his crimes. Instead she says: “Don’t go to the meeting, say that you’re sick-”

“That will just make it worse,” Ben says flatly. “He’ll know.” Ben stands from the couch and visibly tamps down his facial expression. He walks away from her and mechanically shoves his feet into his shoes by the door. Rey just watches him, feeling helpless. She gets up off of the couch and pads over to him on bare feet, stopping short of actually touching him.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks tremulously. “If you need time to think or…” she trails off.

Ben pauses, one hand on the doorknob. “No,” he says softly, “please don’t.” 

“I won’t, then,” Rey says. She crosses her arms. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Ben just nods. Her manager exits the apartment, and Rey looks around herself, filled with more questions than ever before.

\---

Ben ends up twenty minutes late to the meeting. He gloomily assesses the venue as he walks in, some swank cocktail bar packed with professionals getting drinks before taking their trains back to Manhattan or Long Island. The other franchise owners tend to cycle through places with this kind of atmosphere, and Snoke wouldn’t be caught dead in a bar that didn’t have access to his preferred scotches and wines. The fact that this is such an ideal First Order venue, and so distasteful to Ben, makes the dissonance grow in Ben’s mind. It’s been a shrill note building for days, uncomfortably similar to the shriek from his nightmare. Some combination...the dream, his free evenings, Rey...has left Ben’s normally placated mind unsettled and prone to strange thoughts. This is precisely what his routines are meant to control, and yet for the first time in over a decade, Ben finds himself wondering if the patterns are part of the problem. His mental defenses are battered from a week of keeping that conflict in check. He hadn’t intended to vent to Rey earlier, for example, and that loss of control doesn’t bode well for his meeting with Snoke.

Steeling himself, Ben cuts his way through clusters of customers, keeping an eye out for a table of familiarly dour faces. Sure enough, near the back, the whole lot of owners are perched in their sycophant circle around Snoke. Ben’s mentor looks relaxed and assured in his seat, one long-fingered hand grasping the neck of a decanter of wine. He’s pouring himself a fresh glass as Ben approaches the table.

“Ben Solo,” says Snoke, not lifting his eyes from the settling liquid. “So kind of you to join us.” Ben winces internally at the cold tone, knowing the old man hates lateness. Outwardly, he keeps his mask locked in its place. 

“I was delayed,” he says casually. He takes a seat in the conspicuously empty chair across from his mentor and folds his hands neatly on the table in front of him.

“Of course,” nods Snoke. He sets the decanter back down and finally looks at his protege, pale gaze level. “Hux, fill him in,” he says, lifting his glass to his lips. His eyes don’t waver from Ben.

Hux, who of course is sitting at Snoke’s right hand, straightens slightly like they’re back at school and he’s just been called on. “We were discussing our Friday gathering,” he reports, his voice smooth. “The catering details would probably bore you, but we will be announcing that First Order Midtown was the most profitable location this year.” Hux’s face becomes smug with that statement; it’s his store, after all. Ben just looks back at him flatly, aiming to curb his enthusiasm. Sure enough, Hux slumps slightly after a moment.

“That’s most of our business,” Snoke agrees, retaking the reins of the conversation. “Now,” he says dryly, “why don’t all of you get a new drink.”

The owners, used to Snoke and his orders, all start to rise from the table.

“Not you, Solo,” the old man says sharply.

Ben sets his jaw and reverses his movement, settling back down into his chair. The other men filter away towards the bar; Hux shoots Ben a thin smirk as he passes. Then it’s just Ben and Snoke sitting at the round table, eyeing each other. Ben is used to his mentor’s mood swings, but he can’t quite get a read on his current emotion; from the growing pit in his own stomach, it’s not good.

“I haven’t seen you lately,” Snoke says, starting out mild. His thin fingers flex gently against each other.

“I’ve been busy,” Ben says, a rote answer.

“Busy,” sighs Snoke, drawing the word out. “Yet I saw that you’ve just hired a manager.”

“Yes,” Ben says tersely.

“I didn’t approve that,” the old man says, voice soft. 

“It made sense for the location,” Ben replies, trying to keep his tone reasonable. Plausible. “Two managers allow for greater flexibility.”

“One manager allows for greater _control_ ,” counters Snoke.

“For whom?” says Ben before he can think better of it. Snoke tenses slightly across from him, eyes flickering across his protege’s face.

“Why, for you, Ben,” he says sweetly, at odds with his expression. “You’re not getting tired of managing, are you?”

_Yes_ , thinks Ben.

“No,” he says sullenly.

“That’s good, Ben,” says Snoke, carefully watching his face. “I have plans for First Order, and I need you with me. I need someone _strong_ ,” he says, leaning forward, gaze intent.

“I know that,” Ben agrees, averting his eyes. He plucks at his shirt sleeve nervously, then plows ahead with his gambit. “I’ve actually been thinking about that.”

Snoke’s eyes fractionally narrow. “You have?”

“I have,” Ben affirms. He forces himself to look back at his mentor, braving that steely blue stare. “There are certain...disadvantages...to my current situation. I’m not adding as much value to First Order as I could.”

Snoke raises his eyebrows. “Go on,” he says softly.

“Certain...weaknesses of mine keep me from my potential,” Ben continues. His throat tightens around the strange words. He hates admitting weakness to Snoke, even though it reliably gets the old man’s attention. It makes him feel broken. 

_You_ are _broken_.

“I think we both know what those are,” he says quickly. “But I want to overcome them. I want to be an asset to First Order again.”

“Yes?”

Ben assesses Snoke’s mood; he seems mildly intrigued. Ben leans over the table, closing the distance between them somewhat. He tries to stay cool, but his brown eyes are eager, imploring, as he looks at his mentor.

“I’ve been thinking about changing locations,” Ben says. Snoke’s expression immediately sours but Ben rushes on. “Someone else can have the Crown Heights location, of course. They can have the whole building. _You_ can have it. I’d take pennies for it. But if I can have somewhere else,” he continues, voice raw with need, “if I can _live_ somewhere else, I’d be able to work so much harder. I’d be able to focus instead of just…” He trails off as Snoke stares him down into silence.

“Ben,” Snoke says firmly, “you signed a contract.”

“A long time ago.”

“It is binding,” Snoke shrugs. “You can’t break it because of a-” he waves his hand “-whim.”

Ben thinks of his nightmares, his chattering ghosts, and he wants to scream. “I need to live somewhere else,” he says baldly. He can feel his hands shaking. “I can’t do it anymore. I need a fresh start.”

Snoke’s eyes narrow. “A fresh start?” he asks coldly. “I’ve heard that before.”

Ben flushes. “I know but-”

“I gave you a franchise when you were a _child_ ,” Snoke growls, his voice heating. “I harbored you in my own home, set you up as part of my empire, and I asked for _nothing_ in return.”

“You asked for a contract,” Ben argues, guilt and anger vying in his tone.

“I made you a deal!” Snoke hisses, thin fingers clutching the tabletop. “I treated you like an adult who could make up your own mind; forgive me if I was mistaken.”

“I’m an adult now,” Ben says, “and I’ve changed my mind.” He casts about for an argument, thinks of Rey’s frown. “You can’t control where I live my whole life,” he says. “It’s not normal.” 

Snoke’s expression turns ugly. “Normal,” he says, lips curled with disgust. “How trite.”

“It’s what I want,” Ben says; his voice breaks. “It’s what I need.” 

“You _need_ this?” Snoke stares at him, eyes cold and cruel. “Fifteen years we’ve been partners, and just now you _need_ it? No, Solo.” His voice becomes flat. “Somebody’s fucked these ideas into your head.”

Ben recoils like he’s been slapped. “That’s not true.”

“I can hear that bitch talking through you,” Snoke sneers, sitting back. “Whoever she is. If I’d known-” 

“That’s not true!” Ben repeats, his voice rising. Never mind that it _is_ true, just a little. Rey’s just another voice in his ear, just another string… “I’m not a puppet,” Ben snaps, desperate to shut down both voices.

“You’re not a puppet, you’re a puppy,” Snoke scoffs. “Some half-rabid cur trailing behind your master, lapping pathetically at hands when you’re not biting them.”

Ben’s diaphragm clenches, restricting his breath. He doesn’t have the strength to repel Snoke’s venom, but he grasps for the last scraps of resolve he possesses.

“I’m asking to renegotiate our contract,” he manages.

“And I’m saying no.”

Ben licks his lips. Like a cornered animal, he has one final course of action. One that he’d never dreamed of using against Snoke before.

“If I had a lawyer,” Ben says, each word measured, “they might find that odd. They might find the whole contract odd, if they looked at it closely.”

_That_ makes Snoke sit back.

The contract Ben signed on his 18th birthday is unique, and both men know it. Neither of them would come out unscathed if someone took a closer look at the paperwork, but any lawyer would immediately notice how much Snoke _isn_ ’ _t_ paying the city because of Ben. Snoke has never paid rent and he doesn’t pay taxes on the Crown Heights location; that was part of the contract. Ben covers those costs out of pocket and pays an exceptional 50% of the location’s profits to Snoke; as a teenager, Ben had been grateful to Snoke for waiving the initial startup fee in return. And then there’s the crux of the entire agreement: Ben had agreed to remain the sole owner and occupant of his family’s building so that this arrangement could continue indefinitely. 

Fifteen years later, mentor and mentee stare at each other across their round table. Ben is gratified to see a hint of respect in Snoke’s eyes. 

“I see,” says the old man softly. The wheels turning in his mind are almost audible. “Well, Ben,” he says finally, slowly. “You _have_ matured.” He smirks. “I suppose this is how fathers feel when their children grow up.”

“You’re not my father,” Ben grits out.

“I’m not,” agrees Snoke. “I’m not such a pushover.”

His words enter the air and hang heavy, sucking the life from the room. Ben takes a deep breath and holds it. And holds it. He holds it until he starts feeling dizzy, or maybe that’s something else happening in his head. There’s a high shrieking whistle somewhere in the room, can anyone hear it?

“Ben,” says Snoke warmly. “Perhaps I’ve misjudged you.”

The shriek snaps out of hearing and Ben takes a breath. Snoke’s voice is a welcome line towards safety, away from the edge of a precipice. Ben blinks once, deliberately, before turning his head towards his mentor. The other man is watching him with almost scientific interest. Then he leans back, seemingly at ease.

“I’ll renegotiate our agreement,” Snoke says amiably. “On one condition.”

Ben’s jaw twitches slightly, an outward correlation to the leap of hope in his chest. “What-” his voice is hoarse and he stops, clears his throat. “What condition?” he asks, hoping desperately that his desperation isn’t apparent. In truth, it scares him how far he’s pushed Snoke already. He doesn’t want to ruin everything, he doesn’t want to anger Snoke, he just wants a little more, just a little bit more for himself. A home without constant reminders, somewhere he can bring Rey. Somewhere _safe._

Snoke swirls his wine. “Bring the girl to me,” he says, looking back at Ben. “To the party,” he adds, softening the steel of that phrase. Anxiety must show in the younger man’s face, because Snoke makes a calming gesture with his free hand. “If I’m not a mentor to you anymore, then I’d like to think of us as friends, Ben. It’s important to me to meet someone who’s so...important to you.”

Ben’s rattled brain calculates all the various ways this can go wrong, all the hidden menaces that might be lurking behind this request. A cloud of bad outcomes surrounds this decision and yet...negotiating the contract. If he could figure out a way to leave his building, maybe he won’t have the nightmares anymore. Maybe the ghosts will finally dissipate into the past like he always hoped they would. Maybe he can be the man that Rey deserves; he can just barely envision a future, one where he carries Rey over the threshold of a new home for them both. A fresh start…

Ben’s hand clenches into a fist below the table. He looks at Snoke for a long, lingering moment, and then nods.

“What’s that, Ben?” Snoke asks slyly.

“I’ll bring her,” he says, voice low. “You’ll meet her at the party this week.”

“ _Good_ ,” says Snoke. His thin lips curl upwards. “I look forward to it.”

Ben nods dumbly and stands; it suddenly feels like there’s no air in the bar.

“I have to go,” he says, not looking at Snoke.

“Of course,” says his mentor. “You can tell the others to come back on your way out.”

Ben nods again. It’s starting to sink in: what he’s done, what he’s agreed to, what he’s so close to achieving. He swivels and walks mechanically through the crowded- too crowded- bar. The other owners are sitting on stools by the counter, nursing their drinks. Pryde spots him approaching first and raises a questioning eyebrow; Ben jerks his head over his shoulder to indicate that they can return. The owners start filtering past him as they head in opposite directions. Only Hux lingers by his seat at the bar, a smug smile starting to creep up his pasty face. Ben’s anxiety boils into sheer aggravation.

“Had a bit of a talking to, Solo?” Hux sneers. “I can’t imagine wha-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

Ben grabs Hux by the back of his head, jerking him around to face the bar and then slamming his face down into it. The ginger’s head naturally ricochets off the swanky white marble and Ben uses that momentum to regain some height. He punches straight down one more time, muscles singing, taking Hux’s face to the counter once more. Dark red dots spray across the pale surface and Ben dimly hears a woman gasp. He thinks- no, he hopes- that Hux’s nose has been broken. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that, though last time it was on a plain wooden desk during high school Calculus.

Ben feels the tightness in his chest release slightly in the wake of the violence. He ignores the confused hubbub in his immediate vicinity. He drags Hux’s limp head high enough up that he can speak into his ear; the red-head is moaning, dazed but not unconscious.

“If you report to Snoke about me again, I will fuck up your life,” Ben growls softly. “I’ve been paying attention too, _Armitage.”_

Hux just groans, and Ben looks up from the man to take in his surroundings. The other patrons sitting at the bar are either staring at him or whispering to each other. The bartender is all the way at the other end closest to the door and she’s waved in the bouncer, who’s now making his way towards them. The bouncer is a densely built man, but looks at Ben warily, clearly not eager to tangle with someone of Ben’s height and heft.

“I’m going,” calls Ben, dropping his hold on Hux’s hair. The battered man slumps against the bar and Ben raises his hands as peacefully as he can with anger running rich through his veins. “Just a misunderstanding,” he says to the bouncer. “I’m done here.”

“Get out,” growls the bouncer. He glowers at Ben like a surly hawk, stance widened and ready to fight if need be. Ben just bobs his head in acknowledgement and makes his way on towards the door, hands still up. His heart is pounding but he feels weirdly serene through it all; the sick sweet content of rage having been expressed, of points having been made. 

Ben steps out onto the street and takes a deep breath of the night air that’s more like a gasp. He starts walking blindly in the direction of his apartment, his brief serenity dissipating as his emotions catch up with him. _A child_ , Snoke had called him, and here he’d reverted to childish behavior. He shouldn’t have attacked Hux, but Snoke will smooth it all over; he’ll probably laugh at Hux’s bloody nose. The thought of Snoke only makes things worse. Once again Ben’s mind reels through the dangers of bringing Rey right into the lion’s den. Snoke will recognize her from First Order, he’s almost positive. Hux will whisper in the old man’s ear with newly split lips and say “that’s the one.” They’ll descend like vultures, trying to ruin the one thing he has, the one good thing he’s had, the reason he’s... _ruined everything for himself._ Ben quickens his step. Is that right? Is it Rey’s fault that he stood up to Snoke? Asking, demanding, _disobeying_ his mentor. For seventeen years Snoke has been his advisor, his guardian, guide. All at risk now for _a_ _pretty pair of eyes_. She’s _fucked ideas into his head_. Ben’s breathing gets rougher, more frantic, trying to sort through the voices. Which one is his? He wants Rey, doesn’t he? Rey suddenly seems like a dream, something fragile and flimsy compared to over a decade of work. Ben’s whole life is a set of scales that’s being rebalanced, and he has no idea if her weight is enough.

Driven by panic, Ben strides right past First Order’s shuttered storefront before catching himself. He backtracks to his doorway and fumbles with the keys, urgency making him clumsy. He runs up the stairs two at a time and bursts into a darkened apartment. _She’s not here!_ the Snoke-voice crows. But Ben seeks out Rey like a hound on a scent, not even switching the lights on before rushing to the hallway and down it. He freezes in the bedroom doorway, eyes wild.

Inside, Rey is just sitting up, rubbing her eyes in the moonlight. _Beautiful,_ he thinks, and beautifully real. Her hair is loose and messy, and it’s clear that his noisy entrance has just woken her up. 

“Ben?” she says groggily. “What time is it?”

Ben is already sitting on the edge of the bed, snagging an arm around her warm waist. She squeaks in surprise as he gathers her to him. “What-?” she starts saying, but for the second time that night Ben doesn’t let someone finish their sentence. He crushes his mouth to hers, fiercely prying a kiss from her soft, parted lips. His other hand comes up to clench in her hair, holding her near, inhaling her scent. Rey’s mouth stays pliantly open as her brain catches up to what’s happening, but then she catches his urgency and kisses him back. When Ben finally releases her lips, just a bare inch, her breath is almost as ragged as his.

“What’s wrong?” she pants out, still dazed.

Ben presses his forehead hard against hers, trapping her there. “I need you,” he grates out. He can hear Rey’s breath hitch but he can’t slow himself down. He brings both hands to her face, holds her cheeks. “Need you now.”

Rey gropes blindly at him, and her hands find his belt. She starts undoing it even as she breathes against him, and then Ben rolls them both down onto the bed. He’s not soft, he’s not gentle, not kind. Not that night. The two of them couple like they only have seconds to spare and Ben is still wearing his shoes when he grips the headboard and fucks into her deeply enough that Rey screams his name into the air. Afterwards, when Ben has spent himself inside of her, left her shuddering and winded beneath him, he lowers himself down over her, trembling. He molds his body to hers and gathers her closer still with his arms while he buries his face in her neck. He’s ashamed to look at her, but her fingers are soft in his hair.

“What happened?” she murmurs. 

Ben sighs against her skin. “I don’t know yet,” he says honestly. “I don’t know.”

\---

Rey doesn’t know why Ben changed his mind about the party, only that he did. She’s still a little wary about going, but she’d do anything he asked after the terrible night of the meeting. The raw need with which he’d held her and fucked her was like touching a vein scrubbed down to sheer blood; he hadn’t given her details, but the haunted look in his eyes was enough. Rey didn’t really need to hear it to know instinctively that his mentor had somehow upset him.

Maybe she can punch Snoke at the party and blame it on liquor.

She’s going to need a copious amount to drink, because the days leading up to Friday are torture. Ben’s subtle anxiety is no longer subtle, and Rey feels infected by his obvious dread. She sleeps in Washington Heights on Wednesday to take a short break, but she ends up worrying about Ben anyway; they talk over the phone for hours while Rey curls in her bed.

The week has to end sometime, though, to her mingled fear and relief. Friday begins as an innocently blue-skied day; Rey’s morning flits by in a typical blur of teaching. During her afternoon break, though, Rey plops down in a vacant student chair and calls Ben. She smiles to herself when his gruff voice sounds on the other end.

“Hi,” she says, “just wanted to check in about tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

Rey absently scratches something gummy off of a student desk, mentally trying to get a read on Ben’s tone. He’s probably on edge- he’s been on edge every day this week- but she decides to just go for it.

“So,” she begins, “Rose texted me and she wants to meet up before the party, have a couple of drinks, head over together.” She raises her eyes and looks out the window. “We can’t show up together anyway, so I figured it was fine if I went?” She leaves the last sentence dangling, a question mark, and Ben doesn’t answer right away. “I can come over instead for a while,” she adds gently. “If that would make you feel better before going. If you need to decompress alone, that’s fine too.”

Ben exhales; Rey can picture him stretched out on his couch, long limbs ungracefully splayed. “You should go out with Rose,” he says finally. “You’ll have fun, and I’m going to be miserable until this is over.”

“You’re always miserable,” Rey teases fondly. “My miserable old man.”

Ben snorts and Rey warms with the triumph of making him laugh. “What are you up to, anyway?” she asks.

“About to go for a run.”

Rey’s fingers pause on the sticky desk. “Didn’t you already run this morning?” she asks, frowning. Ben had been gone at 7:30 when she woke up, an exceedingly rare occurrence.

“Mhm.”

Rey’s nails tap uncertainly on the desk. “Well,” she says slowly, “don’t wear yourself out.” Her smile returns, curling her lips, and she lowers her voice. “I have some plans for you after this party.”

“You do?” Ben says, and Rey’s relieved to hear an edge of humor in his voice.

“Mhmmm,” she says. “We’ve had a rough week, so I figure we should celebrate.”

“I think I’d like that,” he says, low over the phone. “I think I have some ideas.”

Rey licks her lips. “Such as?”

She hears his breath huff over the line. “They’re not appropriate for children to overhear.”

Rey stifles a grin with her hand, instinctively bringing the phone receiver closer to her face. “They’re all at recess,” she says, dropping her voice even further. “You can tell me.”

“I’m not going to make you cum in your classroom,” Ben says with a seriousness that makes Rey shiver.

“Spoilsport,” she whispers.

“Trust me,” Ben says, voice warm but weary. “If we get out of this godforsaken party in one piece, I will spoil you. I’ll spoil you until you can’t walk straight.”

Rey sits up straight in her chair, mind racing over the possibilities. “Well then,” she says, clearing her throat. “I guess I’ll see you at the party, then.”

“See you then.”

\---

“That’s a _big_ fucking house,” says Rey hours later.

“I told you,” Rose giggles. It’s a little bit before 9pm and the two of them are staring at the immaculate brownstone across the street. Prospect Park stretches behind them, but Rey checks the address on her phone one more time, just to make sure.

“Why do assholes always get lucky?” she mutters. The house does indeed belong to Snoke, and it does indeed look like a mansion. Not even the three drinks she’s already had with Rose and her sister Paige can erase her instinctual anger at the First Order owner.

“You got a grudge, Jakku?” Rose asks. The shorter woman is red-cheeked from her homemade concoctions.

Rey shakes her head slightly. “He was just a dick to...my friend.”

Rose purses her lips and slings an arm around Rey’s waist. “Don’t worry,” she says, voice cajoling. “We’ll barely see him, he just kind of lurks until the announcements.”

Rey sighs, unsure. Getting to hang out with Rose and finally see her apartment had been genuinely fun, and she tries to hold onto that feeling of warmth to balance out her growing anxiety. Is Ben already inside the grand house? Will he be stressed or relieved that they’re finally there?

Rey steels her resolve. “Let’s do this,” she growls, starting to cross the street.

“Atta girl,” Rose crows, and she hustles after her friend.

A couple minutes later, a stern housekeeper... _who the hell has a housekeeper?_...grants Rey and Rose entry into a grand foyer. Rey cranes her neck looking up at the ceiling three stories above while Rose hands off her bag and light jacket to the dour maid. 

“It’s beautiful, kind of,” Rey admits, taking in the pillars and glowing wooden floors. 

“Don’t break anything,” Rose reminds her, shaking her finger. Light music and the sound of voices float out from the room to their right, and Rose turns in that direction. “Come on,” she says, grabbing Rey’s hand, “let’s get drinks.”

The...parlor? Den? Living room?...where the staff are all gathered is just as huge and lush as the foyer in its own way. It’s not totally packed, but there must be at least 50 people trailing between it and the adjacent room. Caterers are filling people’s plates in a carefully marked off corner; Rey shudders to think what Snoke would do if anyone dropped their hors d'oeuvres on the opulent rug. Scanning the room, Rey sees many unfamiliar faces, but does spot Connix and Snap in a corner by some tall Chinese vase. She waves at her coworkers and they brighten in return when they see her and Rose. She’s starting to walk towards them when she spies another familiar face.

Ben, wearing his usual black, is talking with one of the other franchise owners. Vicrul, maybe? Rey’s steps pause automatically, letting Rose pull on ahead. She still has enough self control _not_ to walk directly towards him, but it’s surprising how hard it is. In the five seconds she’s staring at him, Ben happens to glance her way, and his dark eyes snag on hers. Rey crosses her arms and looks away hoping that she’s not blushing. When she shoots a glance back at him, though, Ben is nodding at Vicrul and walking away. Walking _her_ way. Rey pulls her phone out of her pocket to pretend there’s a good reason she’s standing stock still, waiting for him.

“Hello,” says a familiar voice.

Rey glances up from her screen. It’s him of course, tall and brown-eyed and broad-chested and _hers_ for so many nights that she’s almost lost count. A feral urge, perhaps fueled by the alcohol, makes her want to drape posessively over him. Instead she pastes a mild but pleasant smile on her face.

“Hi Solo,” she says, as though he were only her coworker. 

“Jakku,” he says, nodding casually. Up close, he looks tired and paler than usual, though his black shirt may just be washing him out. Maybe, but probably not. 

“We probably shouldn’t be standing together, right?” Rey asks very quietly, looking over his shoulder. She thinks she sees a glimpse of bright red hair disappearing.

“It may not matter,” he says softly over the rim of his glass. 

Rey frowns. “What do you mean?”

Ben’s face tightens. “Snoke will probably see you anyway,” he says cagily.

Rey’s eyes narrow. “Why?” 

Ben throws back his drink, looking faintly miserable even through his mask. Rey is opening her mouth to pry further when a bubbly voice interrupts.

“Hi Solo!”

Ben and Rey both turn their heads to see Rose returning with two drinks in her hands; she seems vaguely surprised to see the two of them talking.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks cautiously, handing Rey her new cup. 

“Perfect timing,” Ben says simply, ignoring the question. “You’re managing both shifts this weekend.”

“Oh.” Rose blinks. “Training shifts again?”

“No, you’re on your own,” Ben says, fishing in his pants pocket. He pulls out his keys and starts unclipping a couple. “You’re ready for it, and I have something important to do this weekend.”

Rey and Rose both look at him curiously, wondering what that could be. Ben hands the keys over to Rose and casually scoops the drink she’d reserved for herself out of her hand. Then he adds: “You’ll also need to find someone to cover for Rey, she’s not working this weekend.”

“Really?” say Rose and Rey at the same time. They look at each other. Ben just takes a sip of his stolen drink and looks steadily at Rey over the rim.

“Yes,” he says calmly, though his eyes glint a little. “If you’re not sure how to spend your free time, I have some ideas.”

Rey’s eyes widen. She bites the inside of her cheek and looks up at him, trying very hard not to physically smack him. Ben just looks steadily back at her, perhaps the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips.

Rose fidgets, glancing between Rey and Ben. “I’m…” she clears her throat, and Ben and Rey both look at her. Rose gestures with her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go ask Connix if she can step in for you. See you around?” 

As soon as Rose walks away, Rey snaps her eyes indignantly back at Ben.

“Did you just publicly clear our weekend for fucking?” she hisses, voice low.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“I _do_ work for a reason, you know,” Rey protests, though she can’t bring herself to truly be mad.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ben says, gaze intense. “I’ll make it all up to you. I just-” He inhales. There’s a slight tremor when he says: “-I just want to be with you.”

Rey’s heart leaps in her chest. She looks back into his eyes and would probably step forward into his arms, their coworkers be damned, if they weren’t interrupted again by the second-worst possible person.

Hux appears at Ben’s side, sporting an ugly black bruise on his forehead. “Solo,” he says, ignoring Rey utterly. “Snoke wants us in the back.”

Ben throws a scathing glance at Hux. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he growls, turning his scowl back towards Rey.

“Now, Solo,” the red-head sneers. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Ben whips his head to glare at Hux, snake-like. His jaw clenches in anger, and Rey can suddenly picture the teenager who got in trouble for beating up Hux. Maybe Hux can too; he raises his hands non-threateningly and quickly steps back. There’s real fear in his eyes.

“I’m just the messenger,” he complains.

Ben stares at him for a long moment, then looks back at Rey. “I’ll be back,” he says shortly.

Rey shrugs as casually as she can through her disappointment. Ben strides past Hux on his way to whatever this meeting is. Hux follows at a safe distance, but not before shooting Rey a quick smirk. It’s unsettling, but Rey just takes another sip of her drink to steady herself. She sighs and walks over to the nearest wall and leans against it; she spends a few minutes blandly watching people mill and seed through the room.

“Rey, isn’t it?”

Rey stiffens at the nearby voice; she looks to the side and nearly jumps. Snoke is standing just two feet away, as tall and skeletal as she remembered.

“Hello,” she says uncertainly. Isn’t he supposed to be meeting with Ben?

Snoke’s smile, if you could call it that, intensifies.

“Are you enjoying my party?” he asks. Rey is disgusted to catch the gray flash of his teeth.

“Yes,” she says sullenly. She prays for something to catch his attention, to cut off this conversation, but instead Snoke leans in.

“I hear that you have a very curious mind,” he says softly. “I have some pictures that may interest you, some things you may not have seen before. Pertaining to our...mutual friend.”

Rey glances away from Snoke’s pale eyes and scans the room. Ben hasn’t returned yet, and she’s not sure what to do. She wants to keep a low profile, yes, but does that mean she should or shouldn’t accept Snoke’s offer? Which would make the bigger scene? 

“Ben lived here for a time,” Snoke says, and that surprises Rey enough that she looks back at him. His blue eyes are hypnotic. “I thought I could share some family history. Give you some...answers, perhaps.”

Despite herself, Rey’s curiosity stirs. She knows almost nothing about Ben’s childhood, has no idea what he looked like as a young man. Maybe Snoke has some pictures of Ben in the business club? That’s probably what he’s talking about.

Reluctantly, Rey nods.

“Right this way,” Snoke says, theatrically gesturing behind them towards the grand staircase. Rey’s stomach flips. She has less than zero desire to be alone with Snoke, but she reminds herself that if this is some kind of pervy shit she can probably beat his creaky old ass. Also Ben will likely be looking for her.

“We’re just going to my study,” Snoke says apologetically, noting her anxiety. “I keep all of my documents there.”

Rey squares her jaw and nods brusquely, following the old man into the foyer without another glance. She starts up the carpeted steps, refusing to let this guy get under her skin. She waits at the top until he makes it up behind her; he has some kind of a limp slowing him down. Rey looks down the curving hallway, trying to imagine a younger Ben in the midst of this luxury and spectacularly failing. It seems like the kind of excess he hates. Then Snoke taps her arm- she recoils instinctively- and escorts her to a nearby doorway. The old man walks through the doorway unconcerned, but Rey lingers a moment outside. She peers down the stairs one more time, still hoping to see Ben. When he doesn’t appear, she reluctantly enters the dimly-lit study after Snoke. Rey makes absolutely sure that the door stays wide open behind them; it’s reassuring to hear the noise of the party downstairs.

Snoke is standing by an ornate wooden desk, pulling out a file from a drawer. Like the rest of the house, his study is lavish and overbearing.

“Come,” calls Snoke cheerily, waving her over. He opens the file with thin, bony fingers and pulls out a single photo for her to peruse. “It’s important to know your history, don’t you think?” Snoke says mildly.

Rey takes the photo carefully from his hands. It’s old, Rey immediately notes, the kind of blurry black and white photo you see in vintage shops. It’s a man and a woman standing in front of a brick building, and as Rey peers more closely, interested against her will, she recognizes…

“This was Ben’s building in the 1930s,” Snoke explains, looking down at the photo. “An enterprising Italian and his wife immigrated here and set up shop in Brooklyn. At first they just rented the space, but their business boomed. They did so well, in fact, that they bought the whole building.” Snoke chuckles. “It wasn’t as expensive as it is nowadays, but still quite the achievement! And the restaurant did _very_ well for itself. Of course,” Snoke adds, eyes glinting, “some may say there was mafia involvement. Perhaps the Italian brought some of his old-country connections with him, yes? But the methods matter less than the results, don’t you agree?”

Rey disagrees, but she still stares at the faint picture of the man and the woman. These are Ben’s grandparents, she reminds herself. The man is tall and looks proud, leaning against the brick facade of his store. The woman- Ben’s grandmother- has a stoic face, but she’s young, and she’s undoubtedly beautiful. Her hair is dark and luxurious, reminiscent of but curlier than Ben’s.

_I’ve worn her apron_ , thinks Rey suddenly, fingers twitching. The same cloth that this woman brought over the ocean has been wrapped around her own waist.

“The woman died in childbirth,” says Snoke harshly, breaking the silence. “Tragic,” he adds carelessly.

Then, distaste enters his tone. “The children survived,” he continues, “one boy and one girl. Twins, in fact. The father supposedly went mad in his grief, but they survived nonetheless.” Snoke plucks the photo back out of Rey’s grip and starts returning it to his file. “The daughter grew up and married the same year her father died,” he continues. “This new husband was...an unsavory type. This Solo character” he pronounces the words disdainfully “takes over the restaurant. Crown Heights turned Black within a decade, but people like him...and people like me...had the foresight to stay.” Snoke’s lip curls. “In his case, perhaps it was sheer stupidity. Solo kept the restaurant and partnered with a man called Lando. He changed the tone of the establishment and somehow it endured.”

Rey stares at Snoke, mentally soaking in all of this new information like a sponge. She already knows 90% more about Ben’s history than she had in months of being with him, and it’s truly fascinating. Her mind races to fill in all the blanks of his life: a father, running a restaurant. A building with more history than she, a girl without parents, will ever have.

“What did his mother do?” she asks breathlessly.

Snoke sneers. “Public defender,” he says. 

Rey suddenly hears heavy footsteps in the hall, and she looks over in time to see Ben burst into the study. He looks wild with anxiety, eyes darting back and forth between her and Snoke. Snoke doesn’t deign to look at him.

“Ben,” he says, rifling through his folder. “Do come in.” Rey can hear the sudden edge to his tone even through her light haze of booze and surprise.

Ben looks like entering the room is the very last thing that he wants to do. He stares at Rey for a long moment- she shrugs helplessly- then back over to Snoke. Still watching his mentor, he slowly, stiffly moves into the room.

“What have you been talking about,” Ben asks, low.

“A little history,” Snoke replies before Rey can speak. “Your grandparents. Your family’s restaurant. _Truths._ ”

Ben looks like he wants to bolt, but he painstakingly walks up to Rey instead and hovers behind her protectively. If he could, he would doubtless be pulling her away from Snoke. The old man seems to notice that.

“I’m not going to _eat_ her, Ben,” the old man smirks. He turns a leer towards Rey. “Though no doubt she would be _delicious_.”

Rey backs up a step automatically, running into Ben’s body. His hands rise and clamp onto her shoulders; she can feel them shaking against her tense muscles.

“No,” says Snoke, turning back to his file. “I’m just showing her your family tree. Anakin, Han, and now you. All part of First Order history, now.”

Ben’s hands clench on her shoulders, and Rey stifles a cry. 

“That’s enough,” Ben says thinly. “You’ve seen her. You’ve talked.”

“But it isn’t, my boy,” Snoke cajoles. “Shouldn’t she know what she’s dealing with, here? Imagine hiring her on to fry chicken and then asking her to engineer.” Snoke chuckles. “No, no, you’ve been being unfair.”

Rey’s breaths starts coming in faster than normal; Ben’s whole body feels like it’s vibrating behind her.

“Like father, like son,” Snoke intones, picking a new photo up out of his file. “I thought of Ben like a son, once,” he tells Rey, glancing at her. “But he didn’t see things that way. No,” he goes on, venom curling his voice, “I think he’s much more like his _father_ than he would admit.”

Rey looks up at Ben where he hunches behind her; that’s why she doesn’t see the picture at first, but she sees Ben seeing it, and his already stricken face goes very, very still.

“Han Solo,” says Snoke, a scathing pronouncement. Rey slowly turns her head and looks back at the new picture in Snoke’s hand. It’s from a newspaper article, some kind of restaurant review. A sandy-haired man is leaning casually against an industrial kitchen grill, wearing a dirty apron, arms crossed confidently across his chest. He has, Rey realizes abruptly, the same sideways smile as Ben.

“What a man,” says Snoke ironically. “Such a success on the surface, but a _failure_ beneath. A terrible father, a terrible husband.” Snoke’s voice lowers intimately, and he steps closer to the recoiling pair. “He got what he deserved in the end, though. Didn’t he, Ben?”

Rey can’t feel Ben breathing behind her. His hands are claws in her shoulders, and tears well in her eyes for reasons least to do with her physical pain.

“Stop it,” she says brokenly.

Snoke ignores her; his cold eyes are on fire where they’re looking at Ben. “Tragedy,” he hisses, lips curling. “Tragedy runs in this family. That’s how Ben inherited his building, didn’t he tell you?”

“Rey needs to go back now,” Ben says behind her. His voice is terrifyingly small.

“Do you, child?” The question is meant for Rey but Snoke is still looking at Ben, pale eyes narrowed. “It’s quite a good story.”

“She doesn’t want to hear it.”

Rey reaches convulsively, clutches Ben’s hand on her shoulder. “I don’t,” she says, trembling.

Snoke laughs at that. _Laughs._ Like he sees through their days and their nights with each other, sees something ugly that no one else can. Or, perhaps, what no one else can admit.

“History repeats itself,” he spits out. “Don’t forget that, _Ben Solo_.”

Ben doesn’t reply.

“I-I’d like to go,” Rey says weakly, still clutching Ben’s hand. The negative energy crackling between the two men is overwhelming. The air feels tight, about to snap into a storm at any second.

Snoke stares at her with a leer of triumph. Then, incredibly, his disfigured face melts into a regular smile. “Of course,” he says, terrifyingly kindly again. “Please excuse an old man for his ramblings. Enjoy the rest of the party.” He turns away, spidery fingers returning Han’s photo into his file.

Still clutching Ben’s hand, Rey starts to racewalk towards the door. Ben staggers behind her.

“Oh, Solo.”

Incredibly, Ben pauses, forcing Rey to let go. They both look back to where Snoke stands in the sickly lamp light. His eyes glint darkly.

“Careful on the stairs,” he says calmly.

\---

Ben and Rey walk downstairs in unnatural silence. Rey sneaks a look at Ben and his face is utterly frozen; he looks like he might have to vomit. She touches him lightly to get his attention and he flinches, instinctively drawing away.

“Ben,” she says urgently, voice pitched low. She tosses her head towards the front door. “Let’s go.”

“We shouldn’t leave together,” he says hollowly, as if from a great distance.

“You go first, I’ll be home right behind you.” 

Ben turns his face towards her but keeps his eyes averted. “You shouldn’t come over,” he says, his voice strained.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want you there.” He says it simply, like it doesn’t have the weight to slam the breath out of her. Rey just stares.

“Because of him?” Rey asks, “or what happened?” Her voice rises. “What _did_ just happen? I don’t understand what-”

“I can’t do this right now,” Ben whispers. And he’s already walking towards the front door.

“Ben don’t do this,” pleads Rey, “Not again-”

But he’s already gone.

Rey is left standing alone in the foyer, watching the door swing shut behind him. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you!”

Rose, red-cheeked and smiling, breaks away from a small clump of people and cheerfully takes Rey by the arm. Her smile slides right off her face when she takes a closer look at Rey’s face. She looks back and forth between the door and the devastation in Rey’s expression.

“What happened?” Rose asks, confused. “Are you ok?”

“I'm fine,” says Rey thinly.

And up in his study, a twisted man smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. I f*cking hate Snoke. Sometimes I re-read the lines I wrote for him and I'm shocked that something so ugly came out of my brain.
> 
> This chapter definitely could have been split into 2 chapters and that was my original plan, but based on people's comments I decided to give it to you all in one go. I know there's a LOT of (Ben) stuff happening here- Ben's confession about his time at First Order, his fight with Snoke to renegotiate his contract, and the shit show that was the party at Snoke's. His whole world is getting shook up, and it's straining his already strained mental state, which is how I justify his collapse at the end. But remember- HEA is the endgame, and we're 2/3 through the fic! Bear with me, it'll all be ok. 
> 
> In awesome news, there are a couple of fic commissions I've made that I hope to share with you soon! The incomparable lightrayder also made a [moodboard](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EZMYSOxX0AIq-SD?format=jpg&name=large) for this fic, which I absolutely love. Annnnd that's about it. Most news right now is pretty dire, which is to say that the issue of disproportionate violence against black and brown people has been made visible in a huge way. It's been a problem for a long time and it's not going to be solved overnight, but at least we're acting on it right now. I'm sorry that this chapter couldn't be a happier one to lift your spirits during these crappy times, but remember that we're 2/3 through the fic and destined for a HEA ending! It's gonna be ok for these two, at least.
> 
> As always, thank you all for the billionth time for supporting this fic. It means the world to me that people read, comment, and leave kudos for this work. I appreciate you all so much <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Happened on the Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, please note that there are a lot of flashbacks in this chapter and I've done my best to make the flow make sense, but if you're confused, just note that Present Ben is always in regular font. I'll include a brief recap at the bottom!
> 
> Also, this chapter centers on a depressive episode from Ben, so skip to the bottom notes for more detailed content warnings if you think morbid thoughts/actions and/or physical fights with a parent might be triggering for you.

The night is outwardly calm, but Ben rushes head down like he’s facing the winds of a hurricane. His dark eyes are fixed on the sidewalk before him, but all he can see is Snoke’s leer, Rey’s shock, and the face of his father. 

His father.

Ben shudders and quickens his pace.

_ Han drops to the rug. “You got me!” he gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. But he grins. _

_ Years  _ of hard work.  _ Years  _ of discipline, suppression. All of it crumbling to dust with a few well-aimed jabs. The ghosts are all rising, all clamoring in his head, stumbling over each other.

_ “Go ahead kid,” Han says, “it’s your omelette.” _

_ “Where’s my Ben?” calls his mother, a smile in her voice. “Wherrrrre’s my Ben?” _

_ “I’m scared of him, sometimes-” _

“Stop,” Ben pleads weakly under his breath. Every alarm, every sense that he has that could warn of impending ruin, had been shrieking in his head when he stepped into Snoke’s office. Even guarded against it, Snoke had managed an almost perfect destruction: his past, unearthed, and Rey there to see it.

_ “If you’re hearing this, Ben: it’s Luke.” _

_ A warm hand lands on his shoulder as he curls in his bed- _

_ “Anything interesting happen today?” _

_ “Oh, let’s  _ talk  _ about him,” snarls his father. _

Ben breaks into a run without noticing, desperate to make it back to his building before his barriers collapse; his mental defenses are shaking themselves into pieces. He’s whispering low, unthinkingly: “Please, please, please, please-”  _ Please _ just keep it together,  _ please _ just stay in your crypt,  _ please  _ don’t do this right now, when he had been close, oh so close, to finally breaking free....

_ “The fires below woke in anger,” reads Leia, voice dark with importance.“The red light blazed, and all the cavern was filled with a great glare and heat.” _

Ben’s hand shakes while he fits his keys into his lock. Something’s about to break loose and the only place he trusts it to happen is back in his cage. He closes his eyes when he enters the landing, blindly groping his way up to the top of the stairs. His whole memory bucks against him, and for the first time Ben feels a high strain of fear at how violent they are. This will not be easy. It may not be salvageable. He stumbles into his kitchen, and the memories feed on the familiar air like a fire seizing fresh oxygen.

_ “Love you, kiddo,” Han says quietly. _

_ Han’s glassy eyes stare.  _

Ben’s legs buckle beneath him.

_ Careful on the stairs _ , Snoke had said. Or you’ll fall.

Careful on

the

stairs

And Ben falls.

\---

_ Han catches him, of course. His father has broad hands, scarred with small oil burns from a life in the kitchen. Ben loves being tossed, but his mother watches anxiously from the couch. _

_ “Han, he’ll fall,” she says, frowning. _

_ “Not this kid,” Han says, grinning. “He’s made out of rubber.” _

_ “Again!” Ben shrieks, “Do it again!” _

_ “Again?” sighs his mother. Eight years later, she’s on the phone in the living room, listening to Ben’s principal.  _ _ Ben is 12, sent home from school for the first time. He’d hurt the other boy badly, left his blood on the snow, and the worst part is Ben doesn’t know why he’d become so angry. _

_ He’s curled up on his side on his bed, staring at his wall when he hears his door open behind him. Footsteps move quietly over his carpet. Then his bed dips and a warm hand lands on his shoulder. _

_ Ben turns towards Leia. Tears spill down his cheeks and his mother’s face softens. _

_ “Oh, Ben…” _

_ He burrows his face in her lap and sobs while she brushes his hair. _

\---

Ben burrows his face in his hands, curled up on his floor. The memories pierce through like high notes on a piano. They pile up, forming chords, then discord, overwhelming. Now he is-

_ 6, standing on a step-stool next to his father. They’re in the kitchen, and Ben’s learning magic. _

_ “Alright kid,” Han says, “first lesson of making an omelette is you gotta break some eggs.” _

_ “Ok,” Ben says, nodding. He’s so eager, so nervous. All he wants in the world is to work with his father one day in the bustling hot kitchen he visits as often as Leia will let him. That’s where his dad spends all of his time, so that’s where he wants to be too. _

_ “Watch how I do it, ok?” Han prompts. He briskly, efficiently, cracks the egg on the kitchen counter. It splits in neat halves, and he empties the contents into a bowl. “Now you try.” Ben blinks up at him. “Go ahead kid,” Han says, “it’s your omelette.” _

_ Ben’s forehead wrinkles with concentration. The egg is smooth in his hand. _

_ “Make it a nice clean break, now,” says Han. _

_ Ben brings the egg down on the counter top...too hard. The egg shatters: CRACK.  _

_ His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at his father. _

_ Ten years later, Han is coming right up from the restaurant, still wearing a greasy white apron. _

_ “Hey folks,” he says wearily, making a beeline for the dinner table. He’s always late, nowadays. He sits down heavily at his empty chair, not waiting for Ben or Leia to respond before reaching over to grab the pot of pasta.  _

_ “Anything interesting happen today?” Han asks, ladling some sauce onto his plate. _

_ Ben stops toying with his spaghetti and glances up towards Leia. She looks calm, almost regal. Nothing like how she looked a couple of hours ago, when Ben had been angry enough to stalk towards her, fists clenched at his sides. She’d  _ flinched.

_ Now her dark eyes just flicker towards Ben’s. “Nothing in particular,” she says evenly. _

_ Ben stares back down at his plate in silence and shame. The two of them hide his transgressions from Han, an unspoken arrangement. Leia’s  _ too _ good at hide- _

_ -and-go-seek, which is his favorite game.  _

_ “Where’s my Ben?” calls his mother, a smile in her voice. Ben, 5 years old, giggles to himself, hiding in his parent’s bed. His little body makes a sizeable lump under the blankets, one that Leia pretends not to notice as she walks in. “Wherrrrre’s my Ben?” she repeats, coming closer. “There he is!” she says suddenly, tickling the lump. Ben collapses under the sheets, erupting with laughter.  _

\---

Ben rolls onto his stomach, pushes onto his hands and knees. The ghosts keep on screaming.  He can tell which direction they’re headed, but he just doesn’t have what it takes to stop them. Not right now. Not after what happened. It takes too much-

_ -effort, but it’s worth it to get rid of these childish things. Ben uses a jackknife to pry off each glow in the dark star from his ceiling, vicious satisfaction burning in his belly. Leia quietly stops in the doorway, watching for a moment.  _

_ “What,” he snaps.  _

_ “I liked those,” she says.  _

_ “I didn’t,” he says nastily. He gets off the ladder and shuts the door in her face. When he’s finished, he lays back on his bed and views the scarred ceiling with pride. He’s 15 years old and he’s- _

_ “-too old for tantrums!” _

_ “They’re not tantrums, Han. There’s a...darkness in him I just don’t understand.” _

_ Ben’s toothbrush hangs limply out of his mouth, eyes unfocused while he listens to his parents fight. About him. Again. _

_ “I have a shift starting,” Han says, businesslike. _

_ “You always do,” Leia snaps. “This can’t wait, Han. I’m-” her voice breaks “I’m scared of him, sometimes. He doesn’t know his own strength and he-” _

_ “Are you saying he’s hurt you?” _

_ “No, of course not-” _

_ “Has he threatened you?” _

_ “No, no…” Leia’s voice becomes soft, diplomatic. Too late. Silently, Ben pulls out his toothbrush and turns to the bathroom door, shakily pressing the lock button down. _

_ His parent’s door audibly opens. _

_ “Where is he-” Han’s voice, now louder. Heavy footsteps launch down the hall. “Ben, are you in there?” A fist hammers on the bathroom door. Ben steps slowly back until his calves bump against the bathtub. _

_ The doorknob rattles. _

_ “Ben, you open this door. You open this door right now.” _

_ Ben sits down on the edge of the bathtub, putting his head in his hands. _

_ “I don’t have time for this,” Han mutters. Then louder: “Ben! When I get home from work, you and I need to talk. Do you understand?” _

_ Ben silently nods, even though Han can’t see him. _

_ “You’ll remember this time?” asks Leia, exasperated.  _

_ “Of course,” Han says shortly.  _

_ He doesn’t remember. _

But Ben remembers. Ben remembers it all. 

He paces his apartment like a tiger in a cage, all coiled muscles with nowhere to go. Trying to outrun his own mind and failing, failing spectacularly.

He moves through the living room.

_ His parents are screaming at each other...again. Ben sits at the dinner table, forgotten...again. He’s usually silent as they lash out at each other, but tonight something grows in that silence. He’s hungry and sad and he’s nervous and suddenly: angry. So angry. He tries saying mom, he tries saying dad, but nobody listens and they don’t EVER listen. So he throws his plate onto the floor, then his glass, then Han’s plate, then his chair...and that finally gets their attention, all right, it FINALLY gets their attention. _

Down the hallway.

_ He and his dad are playing cowboys. Ben finally ambushes Han from his bedroom and shoots his toy gun. Han drops to the rug. “You got me!” he gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. But he grins. _

_ Ben works at First Order obsessively. Snoke demands it of him and it’s better if he isn’t home anyway.  _ _ He and Han argue whenever they’re together, their voices trembling the walls.  _ _ When Ben is at his ugliest, his most out of control, he shouts at his mother, too. There’s  _ a darkness in him _ , he remembers, a darkness in him that scares him sometimes. _

In his bedroom.

_ Leia is there, sitting next to his twin bed, reading him Lord of the Rings. She’s good at it, good at doing the voices and building up tension. The Ringwraiths terrify Ben. They used to be men, and now they’re ghosts, never properly described beneath their hoods. Leia closes the book and spends an extra few minutes talking with him, gentle hand on his head, until his fear subsides. _

_ “Love you, kiddo,” Han says quietly, kissing his son’s head even though they both know he’s a little too old. He still smells like a kitchen, and aftershave.  _

And then, finally, he remembers it all.

\---

_ Ben walks into the empty apartment, trying to ignore his own thickening pulse. It looks exactly the same... _ exactly _ the same. It is silent and still and watchful, and it takes all his willpower not to bolt back down the stairs. The only thing keeping him here is the sense that the apartment is also abandoned. _

_ The answering machine blinks a red light at him, and, hesitantly, Ben walks over to it and presses the play button. He has enough time to notice a fine layer of dust, and then a voice starts to speak: _

_ “If you’re hearing this, Ben: it’s Luke.” _

The day it had happened was normal, in some ways. Ben had gone to school that morning. He’d worked a shift at First Order. He’d come home late, sullenly knowing his father wouldn’t be there, and hoping his mother would be busy as well. But she’s waiting for him at the table. 

_ “Your mother is staying with me right now,” Luke continues. Uncle Luke, the quiet man who lived upstate and rarely came to visit. “She...doesn’t want to be in the city.” _

Leia harps about college, the way she often does. It’s Spring of Ben’s senior year, and shouldn’t he have some acceptance letters by now? Her tone, deceptively soft, sets off Ben’s latent frustration.

_ “I guess the apartment is yours now,” Luke says. He clears his throat roughly. “It’s in your name. She- Leia- she doesn’t want it.” His voice becomes steely. “I hope that you’ll...do some thinking, Ben.” _

Ben has stopped wondering why his anger spirals the way that it does. His rages are like summer storms: nature intends them to occur, and the world around him has to bow under the rain. His mother normally bows, backs off, exits from the argument. She doesn’t this time.

_ “I lived with your grandfather, Ben. I know what anger can do to a person. And for your sake, I hope you think long and hard about what you can change.” _

When Ben’s voice starts to thunder, Leia picks up the phone and calls downstairs. Han, she says tersely, come home. Ben grabs a glass off the counter and throws it onto the floor, and his mother’s hands tighten on the receiver. Han, come upstairs  _ right now _ .

_ “And between you and me,” Luke’s voice lowers, but the tone is conversely more cold. “Don’t contact your mom unless you can change.” _

_ The recording stops. Ben erases it. And proceeds to erase everything else. _

Han’s presence changes the chemistry of the argument; it heightens the possibility of destruction. Ben embraces that, feels an odd sense of freedom as he finally shouts at his parents that he never applied to college.

_ Ben paints over the walls with manic precision, dousing the yellow with bright white, then gray. A clean start, he just needs a clean start. _

You said you applied, Han shouts. Why would you lie about that? You’re smart, kid, you’re smarter than me, you should be going to college.

Fuck college, Ben spits back, inarticulate. It’s not about college, to him. This fight is every fight they’ve ever had, every resentment that’s sprouted and festered over the years. His anger feels like overheated blood in his veins, loose at the limbs and packed tight in his gut.

_ Ben thinks about taking his parents’ room, usurping it, but it’s too difficult. Instead, he makes it a graveyard. He disassembles their bed. He empties the bookshelves, the cupboard, dumping the contents onto the floor. He drags in the old table and chairs, family heirlooms. The pictures are already stacked in a corner, the first things to go. _

Did Snoke put you up to this? Han rumbles. You’re not gonna keep working at his shitty store, are you? 

Don’t talk about him, Ben says, stung. 

Oh, let’s  _ talk _ about him, Han snarls, eyes narrowed.

_ Ben unceremoniously throws out his own twin bed, his child’s furniture. His old rocking horse is still in storage and he can’t part from it for some reason. Into the dead room it goes. _

He’s just using you, Ben. 

You just want me to work at  _ your _ shitty store! Ben shouts. Well, I’m  _ nothing  _ like you. I don’t have to stay here. He shoves past Han, angrily wedges his shoes on by the door. 

**_“‘And then he saw a strange and terrible thing,’” reads Leia from_ ** **Return of the King** **_._ **

Where are you going? Han asks, grabbing his arm. Don’t  _ touch  _ me snarls Ben, slapping his hand off. But Han grabs him again. 

In some world, that’s enough to stop Ben. In some world, maybe his anger ebbs early; he stays and he listens. But in this world, this past, he swings around and punches Han right in the jaw.

**_Han drops to the rug. “You got me!” he gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. But he grins._ **

His mother gasps.

_ The house is empty, after he’s done. Empty and clean, clean, clean. The walls are freshly painted. The rug has been ripped up, exposing the hardwood beneath. Ben sits on the cold floor, admiring his handiwork. It’s a start. A fresh start. He just needs a fresh start. _

Han pauses for only a moment. It’s a long moment for Ben, one where his knuckles smart and he can almost see his life as he knows it vanishing into the distance. For that moment, he teeters on the edge of regret. He wishes...

Then Han turns on him. His eyes are heavy and dark and he grabs Ben by both arms and muscles him into the door. Ben’s back slams against wood.

**_“‘Gollum on the edge of the abyss was fighting with an unseen foe’”_ **

_ The apartment seems huge without any furniture in it. Ben walks through the bare spaces at night, a little lost. He opens the door to the dead room, faintly smelling the scents of people that are now gone. The smells fade with time, and he goes in less and less. He actively tries to forget them. _

The two men wrestle in the entryway while Leia cries out behind them to stop, please just stop. Ben feels terrified, victorious, utterly enraged. Han is shorter than Ben, but he’s older and broader, and Ben tries to escape through the door. The handle gives way immediately, making them stumble out into the dark of the stairwell.

**_“‘To and fro he swayed, now so near the brink that almost he tumbled in, now dragging back…’”_ **

Ben is choking, Han’s arm around his neck. He punches his dad in the gut, once, then twice. Han’s grip loosens enough that he can wrench free, and he does, panting for air. Almost sobbing.

**_“Go ahead, kid, it’s your omelette.”_ **

Ben starts down the stairs, but Han grabs him again. To stop him? To hurt him? Ben wrenches around, trying to pull free-

**_“He stepped too far,” Leia reads, her voice rising. “‘Toppled, wavered for a moment-’”_ **

His father says his name-

**_“Make it a nice clean break now-”_ **

A mess of limbs, and then air-

**_“‘-and then with a shriek-’” (here Ben gasps) “‘-he fell!”_ **

Ben is standing.

**_The egg shatters: CRACK._ **

He’s standing alone.

**_His face falls. “I’m sorry.”_ **

There’s silence.

\---

Now, in the present, Ben lets out a cry of despair. He grabs the nearest thing- the living room desk- and slams it down onto the floor with as much force as he can muster. The noise, the rush, should blot out the memory, but this time it can’t. Neither does kicking the armchair. Neither does punching the wall. Even with red cracks split over his knuckles, the memory refuses to fade.

**_Love you, kiddo_ **

Ben roars wordlessly out at the empty apartment, sweeps down the hallway.

_ Ben turns his gaze away from the base of the stairs. Wide-eyed, he looks towards his mother. _

_ Tragedy runs in this family,  _ said Snoke.

Ben rips open the door to the dead room, disturbing the air. Dust motes swirl violently as he yanks the covering drapes off the furniture. He seizes the first wooden chair, lifting it high and then shattering it on the floor.

_ Leia looks back at him, face strange. Only a wife, no longer a mother. Her soft face is so, so, white, and her eyes are uncanny looking at him. His eyes. Terrified in both of their heads. Time freezes. _

**_“Where’s my Ben?” she calls, a smile in her voice._ ** **_“Wherrrrre’s my Ben?”_ **

Ben throws over his father’s armchair, revealing the pictures he’d had stashed behind them.

_ It’s only a second, only a lifetime. One moment she’s staring at him, reading some terrible truth in his face, the next moment her mouth is dropping wide open, impossibly red, and she SCREAMS _

Ben kicks the picture frames, shattering the glass. His shoes dent the smiles of his mother, his younger self, father...

_ He takes after his father _ , Snoke had said.

_ Ben recoils with a gasp. He cringes away from her scream of despair and mindlessly flees down the staircase. He trips halfway down, lands hard on his rear. He looks up and his father is staring at him, glassy-eyed, neck impossibly tilted. Blood drips down his chin in thin waves and more blood stains the stair. _

**_Love you, kiddo_ **

Ben falls to his knees on the broken glass, clutching the sides of his head. His breath whips through his throat, too fast, too fast. His vision feels white at the edges and still he can see his nightmare: his own past. Han’s glassy eyes stare and, like Leia, he screams and he screams. 

\---

Finn opens the door of Poe’s apartment and Rey immediately falls into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she babbles, “I just had to see someone-”

“Peanut, what’s  _ wrong _ ?” Finn asks, squeezing her tight. 

“I don’t know,” she says wetly, voice muffled. “Everything. Everything’s awful.”

“Is it Ben?” Finn asks sharply. He can sense Poe entering the room behind them, but his whole attention is focused on the girl in his arms. “Did he hurt you?”

“Yes, but no,” Rey says, helpless. “I don’t know.”

“Come inside,” Finn says firmly, pulling out from the hug far enough he can wrap one arm over her shoulders. He shoots a quick glance at Poe; his boyfriend hovers uncertainly, and Finn quickly mimes drinking from a glass and motions with his head. Poe nods and disappears into the kitchen.

“What happened?” Finn asks again as they sit on the couch. Rey shakes her head faintly, staring at him with wide eyes; he’s never seen her look so distressed.

“I don’t even know,” she says, haunted. “It was so fucked up, Finn. It was  _ really _ fucked up. Not-” she adds quickly, seeing his darkening expression “-what Ben did. He just left and I-” her voice breaks, and she shakes her head sharply, holding a sob. “I know why, but it was Snoke’s fault.”

“That...old guy?” 

“Ben’s boss,” Rey says, nodding. “He just... _ triggered  _ him, Finn. I don’t understand how. He hurt Ben and Ben froze up, and I’m-” her voice trembles “-I’m just worried. I’ve got such a bad feeling.”

Poe quietly enters the room and sets down a glass of water in front of Rey. “You can stay here tonight,” he offers, glancing at Finn. “I really don’t mind.”

“Yes,” agrees Finn. “You are  _ definitely  _ staying.” He reaches out to squeeze Rey’s hand, looking seriously at her. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s going to be ok. Ok, Peanut? You can check in on Ben in the morning.”

Rey shakes her head. “I went there already,” she says hopelessly, gripping his hand. “I rang the doorbell, and he didn’t answer.” She looks young and unsure, huddled up on the couch.

“It’s late,” Finn soothes, “maybe he just needs some time. We’ll try again in the morning. Ok?”

Rey nods, but she doesn’t let go of his hand.

\---

Ben doesn’t remember how his first night ended, only that it finally did. He wakes up, still exhausted, on the floor of the dead room, curled up on a bed of broken glass. He doesn’t know what time it is, only that the memories still live in his brain; they shriek back to life as soon as he’s conscious enough to comprehend them.

So he does what he does best.

_ Run. Pace. Pass out. Wake. _

Ben’s first run goes for miles and miles. Normally, the exercise acts as a conduit, channeling out his negative energy. This time, it feels like he’s failing to run from a monster that’s perched on his back. He ends up ragged and breathless in Queens. As soon as he stops, the self-loathing returns, so he just stops stopping. He starts doubling his runs.

_ Run. Pace. Run. Pass out. Wake. _

A couple days in, Ben goes into his fridge and grabs a loaf of bread. He mechanically peels off a slice, pushes it into his mouth and...stops. He can’t even bring himself to chew; the bread sits in his mouth like a clump of earth. Grimacing, Ben spits it out into the sink.

It makes sense, he thinks dully. He doesn’t deserve it.

_ Run. Pace. Run. Pass out. _

Ben sleeps for hours: long, timeless hours. Sometimes when he opens his eyes it’s light out. Sometimes it’s dark. Once, he thinks he hears the sound of his buzzer, but he stares at his ceiling until it stops. He turns on his TV to have something else making noise in the apartment, but he can’t make himself focus. He can’t focus on anything well. He knows abstractly that the store beneath him that sometimes makes noise is First Order, but his apartment might as well be a separate planet; he feels like a wraith. A ghost in the attic.

_ No, the ghost’s on the stairs _ , he thinks vaguely, then sinks back into dreams.

\---

Rey shows up early for work on Wednesday. She loiters outside of First Order, seemingly waiting, but really standing near Ben’s buzzer with her thumb jammed down on the button. She’s heard it before from inside the apartment; it’s  _ loud _ . Maybe it cuts off after a few seconds? Rey starts pulsing her finger on the button instead, sending a morse code message for someone who apparently doesn’t want to hear it.

She’s stopped by every day after work this week and never gotten an answer. All her texts and her calls have gone unanswered. At this point, she’s angry.

And lost.

And sad.

And maybe, just a little bit, constantly nauseous with dread. 

“Hey Rey,” comes a familiar voice down the street. Rey looks over, guiltily removing her thumb. Rose walks up to the shuttered store front and pulls out a set of keys from her pocket. Rey’s heart sinks as her friend undoes the lock.

“You’re managing this shift?”

Rose glances at her. “Yeah. Can you lift that side?”

Rey walks to her side of the shutter and helps Rose get it rolled all the way up to the top.

“To be honest,” Rose says slowly, dusting her hands on her pants, “I wasn’t supposed to be doing this shift. Or yesterday’s, either. Or Monday’s.”

Rey’s nails bite into her palm. “No word from Ben?” she asks, voice coming out strained even to her own ears.

Rose gives her a considered look. “No,” she says, “that’s the thing. He’s been MIA. Weird, right?” She walks to the front door and unlocks that too, entering the store with Rey close on her heels. “I tried calling him too, like, ten times.” Rose halts and studies Rey carefully. “Do  _ you  _ know what’s going on?”

“No,” Rey says simply. She takes a deep breath, then looks Rose square in the eye. “Will you let me know if he calls?” she asks in a small voice. 

Rose’s eyebrows raise slightly, but to her credit, Rey’s friend only nods and doesn’t ask questions. That night, though, when they’ve closed up the store, Rose stands next to Rey and drapes her arm over her shoulders.

“Want me to throw a rock through his window?” she asks, following Rey’s gaze to the second story.

Rey makes a noise that might be a laugh. Ben has his blinds down, but she thinks she might see a flicker of light flashing through them. She’s not sure if it would be better or worse if he’s in there, comfortably reading some book on the couch. Perfectly happy to cut her out of his life. The more days pass, the more Rey starts to accept that she’s just been abandoned. Again.

“Maybe next week,” she says faintly.

\---

Ben opens his eyes, feeling like he has to vomit. There’s nothing to throw up, though; he knows because last time he did, there only was bile. He’d been running somewhere out in Brooklyn when his vision had whited out and he’d staggered to a stop. He’d heaved his modest splatter towards the side of the sidewalk and stood there, sightless, waiting for his eyes to recover. It seemed to take a long time, and in that time, Ben realized just how hard he was breathing, just how deeply his limbs ached.

_ Good _ , he’d thought dully.  _ Another few miles. _

But when he’d tried to run forward again, his body had shuddered and refused to gain speed. His head swirled, and for once the memories crowding the edges seemed faint. But then again, everything did. This was the price to pay for their silence.

Ben had walked home in a daze and promptly collapsed on his floor. He’d stopped using the bed or the couch days ago; he didn’t deserve them. If the self-loathing was raging particularly high, he made himself sleep on the remains of the picture frames in the dead room, or the shattered mess that he’d left of the bathroom mirror. 

What time is it now? How long has he been here?

Why is he alone?

_ Because you always are,  _ says the Snoke voice.  _ Because it’s safer this way. _

Ben turns onto his side. He’s in his bedroom, where it’s cooler and especially dark when the shades are pulled down. If he stays very still, he feels like a corpse in a tomb, which feels a little like peace. His tomb, he considers, is an upside-down one; the faint sounds of First Order are the living walking the ground above him.

A stray thought flits through his brain: Somewhere down there, a beautiful woman is frying up chicken.

Ben holds onto the thought stubbornly. It’s foolish to think of a good thing when he is so bad, but the thought of that woman...of Rey…

“Rey,” he says out loud, cracked lips passing the whisper. 

She’s such a  _ good  _ thing to consider. Beautiful, warm, her smiling in the sun, on the boardwalk-

Ben waits for the inevitable backlash: his brain has been screaming at him that he’s not good enough to eat, to live, to survive in a world where Han Solo is dead, where Leia left him alone. He  _ knows  _ deep down that he’ll only hurt Rey. Yet, thinking of Rey for the first time in days, Ben only feels a deep ache of longing. 

Slowly, Ben reaches forward under his bed. His fingers brush over cloth, and he reels his find towards him like the world’s most pained angler. He sees the bright yellow smile and would laugh if he could: it’s the Nirvana t-shirt, the one Rey has so thoroughly stolen from him. Letting himself have this one thing, Ben pulls the cloth flush against his face. He burrows, nostrils filling with the faint scent of shampoo that’s not his, sweetness that’s not his. But it had been his, once.

Ben nods out again, and when he comes to, he’s curled around the t-shirt and he wants to cry.

He wants Rey like a fire in his blood.

Under normal conditions, a desire this strong might send him running straight up to Washington Heights, which would still be less miles than he’s run in even one day this past week. But right now, all Ben’s conviction combined gets him up on his hands and his knees. He half-crawls, half-staggers the long, long,  _ miles  _ from his bedroom back out to the kitchen, where his phone is somewhere in his pocket.

The phone is stone dead, and that nearly defeats him. He sprawls on the kitchen floor and tries to remember how good it is to have Rey in his arms for nearly half an hour before he hauls himself back to the bedroom and locates his charger.  Ben plugs in his phone and sits by the outlet, focusing on his breathing. He may doze off for a while, because the phone is back on and at 60% when he next looks at it.

He feels feverish as he unlocks his phone, like he’s racing against time or himself- maybe both. Buzzing immediately erupts from the device. Ben breathes shakily while the missed calls and texts clog his screen; with a very quick glance, he can see that some are from Rose, but most are from Rey. Ben is so emotionally worn down that the guilt of it is nearly too much to bear; he closes his eyes and forces himself to take a steadying breath of Rey’s t-shirt. A low, nasty voice that sounds like Snoke faintly sneers that he’s missed his chance. Rey’s  _ angry  _ at him. He’ll just make it worse if he reaches back out.

With the last of his resolve, Ben makes himself open a text nonetheless. He purposefully ignores her previous messages; she must be mad, but he’ll tailspin if he thinks she won’t come. And he needs her to come. But he’s not articulate at the moment, so he just types and sends: 

<are you here?>

\---

Rey is taking the train home from school on Thursday, almost a week after Snoke’s fateful party. She’s in Manhattan, but her phone buzzes between stations. She opens the text and sees it, from Ben: 

<are you here?>

It’s the question he asked when she first slept in his bed. 

Rey stares at the words, stomach churning, thoughts flying all over the place. She stands up, not sure what she’s doing until she steps out at the next stop. Switches over to the downtown platform.

<I’ll be there in 30>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: physical fight with a parent, breaking things, depressive episode (excessive exercise, excessive sleep, not eating, morbid thinking, intentionally seeking pain but no actual cutting or similar actions) 
> 
> \---
> 
> Whew.
> 
> To recap: Ben has a lot of positive and negative memories about his parents, but an ongoing thread is that Ben's had anger issues most of his life, which he and Leia generally hid from Han, who was working most of the time anyway at the restaurant. One night he finally had a blow-up fight with his father which culminated with the two of them struggling at the top of the staircase. Han fell, Ben didn't, and Leia saw the whole thing. Ben fully remembers all of this for the first time in over a decade, and it sends him in a downward spiral of self-loathing where he treats his body like shit, but finally he reaches out to Rey in a rare moment of lucidity. Rey is ON HER WAY, GUYS!
> 
> If you're like *nervous laugh* "wasn't this supposed to be about fucking in a restaurant??", I HEAR YOU. This chapter is hella styled and the next chapter is written in a more normal way. I always wanted this fic to be Reylo-centric and smut forward, but I also care deeply about these characters and wanted to explore even their dark and sticky places. To be completely honest, the details of Ben's breakdown are lifted exactly from one of the ones I had in college. I'm in a much better place now, but writing this for Ben is cathartic for me, because I also had an unhealthy relationship with anger/pain, and I see a lot of my younger self in the character of Ben Solo. His character traits here might make some of you worry that Ben isn't redeemable, but please keep in mind that his recurring fear regarding Rey is that he might hurt her. He's not fixed yet, but he has the potential to get there.
> 
> With all that out of the way, thank you so much for the amazing comments and support I've received on this work, especially last chapter! It means so much to me to hear that this work is something you all appreciate, read, and re-read. I'm so lucky to be a part of this community, and the thing I'll miss most about finishing this work is hearing from you. If you're so inclined, feel free to follow me on twitter at @Doorkeeper91 or drop me a comment here.
> 
> Final bit of news: My civil war AU is [finally live here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800077), so get on board for some extremely kinky sex....by my standards, at least! I can't wait to post the next chapter.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftercare, or, Hurt/Comfort the Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Ben's depressive episode is still ongoing (lack of eating, morbid thinking), and Section 3 contains consensually painful sex (rough, bloody biting, etc.). If you want to skip Section 3, jump from the 2nd dotted line to the 3rd one!

Twenty-five minutes later, Rey is standing in front of Ben’s door, staring down at the handle.  Every minute sitting on the train to Crown Heights had felt like an hour, and she’d practically raced to get to this very spot: the sidewalk in front of Ben’s building. Except...now that she’s here, Rey is scared to go in.

On Friday night, Ben had said that he didn’t want her here. It’s been six long days since then: six days of her calling, and texting, and ringing the doorbell, and in all that time, Ben has said nothing else. Given no reassurance. Made no corrections. Now she’s re-read his <are you here?> a hundred times over, and she still can’t predict what he’ll say when they meet face to face. Will he refuse to discuss what happened at Snoke’s? Will he feel abandoned, in spite of her efforts to reach him? Even worse, will he calmly tell her that he doesn’t, in fact, want to see her again? Maybe he’s realized that she’s clingy and needy after enduring six days of her constantly badgering him.

The truth is that nobody has ever asked for Rey back once they’ve let her go- not her parents, not her foster parents, not the men in her life. As much as Rey loves Ben, as scared as she’s been on his behalf, every instinct to force herself into the apartment has been checked by the equal emotional weight of  _ he doesn’t want you. _

_ They  _ never _ want you. _

Rey might have continued to stand at the door indefinitely if she hadn’t finally looked down. There, wedged between the door and its frame, is a rolled up flyer propping it open. It’s the first sure sign of life that she’s seen in a week, and it definitely, unquestionably, was left by Ben in order to let her inside. It’s the most barebones invitation that she could expect, but it finally convinces her to open the door.

Once at the top of the stairs, Rey turns the inner door knob and it rattles: locked. She takes a deep breath, lungs quivering, and knocks instead. It feels like pulling a slot machine handle: the possibilities spin and start narrowing down. Rey’s pulse quickens at the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Anything could be behind this door: Ben apologetic, Ben still frozen, Ben angry, Ben hurt. She tries to ready herself as the door swings open...and doesn’t succeed.

She could never be ready for this version of Ben.

The first things that hit her are  _ pale  _ and  _ that smell.  _ Ben reeks like sickness, a weird mix of sweat and sharpness that makes Rey’s shoulders pull back. He’s leached of all color, drawn and somehow caved in; Ben can’t possibly lose all of his body mass in less than a week, but he stands like a hollow man by the door, not making eye contact. There are dark circles carved below his eyes, puffing red at the edges almost like bruises. Rey’s breath catches in a gasp; his jaw twitches.

_ Oh, no. _

“Ben?” she asks faintly. Insufficiently. Guilt rolls over Rey like a physical wave:  _ you should have come sooner, you should have followed him right out of Snoke’s door... _

Ben only glances sideways at her, his eyes skittering off of her face. There might be shame, or relief, in his face, but it’s nearly impossible to read him in this deadened state. He reminds her of a stray dog that used to lurk outside of Millenium Diner, too hungry to leave but too scared to approach. 

“Have you been eating?” blurts Rey, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.

Ben shrugs cagily and steps back from the door, opening a path into the apartment. His posture isn’t precisely inviting, though. He keeps his gaze carefully averted from Rey, and when she takes a step forward and reaches towards him, he  _ flinches _ \- just like he’d done on Snoke’s stairs. So Rey lowers her hand, takes a deep breath, and steps into the apartment instead.

Ben silently closes the door behind them. He twists the knob gingerly, and Rey notices now that his hand is puffy and bruised, the knuckles scabbed with old blood. Her eyes flicker over his form- he’s wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt- and with rising panic, Rey notes multiple scabbed cuts over his bare arms and legs. She immediately looks up and scans the apartment, wide eyes snagging on two fist-sized holes in the wall. The coffee table and desk have been flipped. The blinds are down and one lamp is broken; only one sickly glow lights the room. The apartment is wrecked and disheveled, much like Ben himself.

Rey realizes fully, then, that this will not be a conversation. This is not a miscommunication. This is a full-blown crisis. Her guilt and panic swell into a near-elemental urge to  _ fix this _ .

“I’m going to make something for us,” she says aloud, aiming for a normal tone and ending up high and brittle. Ben’s hair hangs lank and dull, so she seizes on that for inspiration. “Why don’t you go take a shower?”

Ben finally meets her eyes, expressionless, but at least he nods. He looks around his living room like it belongs to someone else, then drifts towards the hallway. Rey watches him go, trying not to cry out at how slowly he moves, the way he needs to rest for a moment at the mouth of the hallway, leaning against the doorframe.

As soon as he’s gone, Rey walks into the kitchen and throws open the cupboards, searching for something palatable. Her heartbeat thumps anxiously in her chest, and her thoughts skitter across the various possibilities.  _ Spaghetti, rice, maybe he’s on drugs? Canned beans, some half-finished sauce in the fridge, could it really be whatever Snoke said?  _ At one point Rey has to pause; her vision is blurry with tears, and she leans onto the counter, hiding her face in hands that tremble. But a few seconds later she straightens and angrily wipes her eyes clear. She has no idea what she’s doing, but she has to start  _ somewhere.  _ She has to, for him. If it gets too heavy, or too dangerous, she can just walk away...maybe. Ben has become hard to walk away from.

Rey settles on pasta and sauce, reasoning that it’s carb-heavy and will do the most to provide basic sustenance. Once the pot’s on the stove, she sneaks down the hall to listen for running water from the bathroom; she wouldn’t be surprised to find this strange version of Ben ignoring her suggestion and staring out into space. Luckily, though, the shower does sound like it’s running, and Rey hears the water pattern changing, a sign that a moving body is actually disrupting the flow. That gives her the confidence to move back to the kitchen and finish making their dinner like tonight is any other normal night. While the water is boiling she rights the coffee table and desk. She can’t do anything yet about the drips of blood on the rug, but she does open the blinds and the windows, trying to flush out the sickness that hangs in the air.

It feels like years, but the pasta has just barely been sauced when Ben emerges from the hallway with dripping hair and a fresh set of clothes. He still looks far too haggard for Rey’s liking, but he meets Rey’s gaze directly and there’s a little more life in his eyes.

Rey dumps a load of spaghetti onto a single plate. “Come on,” she says, “let’s sit on the couch.”

“Ok,” says Ben quietly, and Rey’s heart could break from relief.

Rey beats him there, plate and a fork in hand. She sits on the cushion and offers both up. Ben hesitates, eyeing the couch for a moment. Then his gaze flicks between her and the plate and he sits. He takes it and the fork with a soft “thanks,” but stares at the food like it’s a foreign landscape.

“It’s my finest gourmet cooking,” Rey jokes weakly, face nonetheless pinched with concern.

Ben gamely stabs his fork into the spaghetti and twirls up some of the pasta. He brings the forkful up and almost to his lips...and then his arm sags. He pulls the pasta back, untouched.

Ben breathes out a shaky sigh and looks over to meet Rey’s gaze. His stress is evident, an unspoken apology pleading in his brown eyes. “It’s just not good right now,” he says hoarsely, voice rough with disuse. 

Rey swallows, then reaches out- slowly, giving him time to move- and touches the side of his face. Ben’s eyes snap shut at the sensation; a small wordless noise trembles out of his throat, but he lets her hand stay. He has several days’ worth of stubble, but the skin near his eyes feels like delicate paper, smooth and fragile. Rey carefully lets her fingertips stroke along the line of his cheekbone.

“Just have a couple of bites,” she asks. Her fingers stray to his wet hair, push it back behind his ear. “Please,” she adds softly. “Do it for me.”

Ben exhales heavily through his nose. She can see him, this normal powerhouse of a man, mustering all his will to complete this simple task. Then he opens his eyes, lifts his hand again and mechanically takes the bite. Rey drops her hand to her lap and watches him chew, ready to cram the damn spaghetti into his mouth herself if she has to. But he swallows. Then takes another bite, and even a third. Rey wonders fleetingly if this is how new mothers feel when their children are eating.

After a few bites Ben closes his eyes again and leans his head back against the couch, still chewing. “My compliments to the chef,” he says, a threadbare attempt at humor.

She’ll take it. 

\---

The night passes that way in an uneasy truce, unspoken questions fluttering around their heads.

_ What’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me? _

They watch old X-Files episodes, Ben stretched out along the couch with his feet in Rey’s lap. He’s not really watching, and neither is Rey. She keeps a hand on him at all times, like that will keep his ghost-like body from floating away. What she  _ wants  _ is to wrap his whole body close in her arms, but Ben shies away from most physical contact. She settles for slowly stroking her thumb along his ankle, trying to acclimate him and soothe herself. The spaghetti stays on the coffee table and at one point Ben picks at it again.

_ What have you been doing? Why didn’t you call me? _

Rey furtively scopes out Ben’s bruised hand and his cuts, and decides that they need Neosporin. She goes to the bathroom to get it, promising to be back in only a minute. Flicking on the bathroom light reveals the smashed mirror and pieces of glass haphazardly swept to the side. Rey mentally screams at herself for having him take a shower in here without checking first, but she forces the panic down and gets what she needs from the ruined medicine cabinet. 

Ben is still stretched on the couch when she returns, staring up at the ceiling with a resigned look on his face. He knows what she saw in the bathroom. He knows what a wreck this place is. Rey knows that, because when she kneels on the floor by the couch without mentioning the glass, he shoots her a look of cautious surprise.

“I need to touch you to clean those cuts,” Rey says simply.

“You shouldn’t-” he starts to say hoarsely. “You don’t have to-”

Rey is already shaking her head. “I want to,” she says, looking into his eyes. She can see his guilt and doubt swirling, but she cuts him off before he can say no. “Let me take care of you, Ben.” 

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, only looks away towards the back of the couch. But he doesn’t stop her from taking his battered hand and starting to wipe off the old crust of blood.

Rey works methodically along Ben’s body, gently daubing his cuts as she goes along. She keeps her touch light as she works, not wanting to upset him. His breathing comes quick anyway. Rey glances up just once at his face; he’s watching her with such raw want, it makes her fingers still. 

“Ben,” she says tentatively, allowing her hand to run up over his thigh.

He looks away, shamefaced. Shakes his head no.

“Ok,” Rey says softly, stifling the sting of rejection. “That’s ok.”

_ Why won’t you touch me? What are you thinking? _

Rey switches off the TV and walks back over to Ben, who’s been dozing for the past half hour on the couch. She stands over him and cards her fingers into his now-dry hair, careful not to rake his scalp.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says.

He looks up at her, brown eyes ringed with gray. Even though he’s been napping and reeks of exhaustion, he seems dubious.

“We can try,” he says flatly.

  
  


\---

  
  


Rey wakes up on her side of the bed in the middle of the night and feels Ben right behind her. He’s already awake; one large hand covers her hip, and when she stirs, he pulls her in closer against him.

“Ben?” Rey says groggily, faintly pleased at their position but still mostly asleep.

Ben doesn’t reply, but his fingers tighten their grip and she feels his hot breath on her neck. He kisses her there once, twice, more, lips fevered. Rey’s mind and body start to awaken like a train leaving the station. Ben’s hands are already fierce on her sides, touching everywhere he couldn’t stand to be touched mere hours ago, seeking her skin. Rey moans and starts to turn in his arms. Ben pulls her tightly to him- tight, and then tighter- until their bodies feel merged and her bones sweetly ache. He grinds his crotch against hers with enough force to yank her firmly out of slumber, then bends his lips to her neck and bites her there,  _ hard. _

“Ah!” Rey cries out, stiffening in his arms.

Ben freezes. In what feels like a heartbeat, he’s let go of her and retreated to his side of the bed.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Wait, what?” Rey says, confused, one hand over her neck. She sits up, trying to peer over at Ben. “Don’t...please don’t stop.” Her body still ripples with heat from the fire he started, and her thoughts are still scattered from her frantic awakening. 

Ben only falls silent, breathing hard in the dark. 

Rey’s confusion veers into frustration: emotional, physical. She was going to let this wait until morning to give Ben some time, but clearly it needs addressing now. Rey rolls over to her side of the bed and switches on the bedside lamp. She squints against the glare of its light, then turns to look back at Ben. He’s blinking owlishly, face strange with all its new sunken hollows. His cheeks are flushed. Rey gives him a couple of seconds to adjust and also to gather her own thoughts.

“I need to know what’s going on,” she says finally, looking at him. “You walk out on me,  _ disappear  _ for a week, I come back and you’re not eating, you’re hurt, you look like shit, won’t touch me…” Rey’s voice rises as the list continues, her very real worry rising with it. “I’m trying to help and I  _ want _ to help, but I can’t if I don’t understand!”

Ben covers his face, hunching into himself. “I know,” he says, low and muffled. “I woke up and I...I just wanted to touch you, but I shouldn’t-” He cuts himself off.

“Shouldn’t what?” 

Ben’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t reply. 

Rey exhales, misery rising. “Ben,” she pleads. “Talk to me. Please.”

Ben lies still for a long moment, then rolls onto his back. He closes his eyes against the lamp light, throwing one arm up to cover them. He seems to steady a little in his self-imposed darkness; Rey waits stubbornly while his breathing slows down.

“I’ve been remembering things,” he says finally, slow, like a confession. “I don’t want to think about them, but they’re there. All the time. They make me feel...angry. And guilty. And scared, because I can’t put them away.” He swallows painfully, and Rey sees his adam’s apple bob. “I’m...being torn apart. And I don’t know how to put myself back together, or if I even should. I don’t feel like I should.”

Rey listens, jaw locked. What he’s saying sounds awful, but she can hear so much worse lurking under the surface.

“You know running helps me,” Ben continues, voice rasping. “It usually blocks out the noise, uses up all the...feelings. But it’s not helping. I’ve been going out two, sometimes three times every day. It’s not enough.” Rey sees his fist clench. “I’ve gone for miles and it’s like I haven’t moved. I run harder and it’s like I can’t feel it. I don’t eat and...” he trails off.

“I feel like I’m floating,” he continues, now in a flat tone. “Or like I’m vibrating out of my skin.” Faint disgust purses his lips, the only part of his face that Rey can see. “I want to feel anything else.” His adam’s apple bobs again and his voice comes out raw: “I don’t want to be here.”

Silence rings between the two of them for a long moment. Then Rey leans closer to Ben, puts a hand on the warm solidity of his stomach. His muscles tense under her fingers, through his t-shirt. “You feel good to me,” she says quietly. “You feel like you’re here.”

Ben doesn’t reply for a long moment, only breathes under her hand. Then, slowly, he puts his free hand over hers. His other arm, the one covering his face, slides to the side so he can look at her. His eyes, too expressive once you know what to look for, are a tumble of both dark and light. “I feel like I’m here with you here,” he says simply.

Rey looks down at their joined hands.

“Did you really want me to come over?” she asks softly.

“Yes.” He swallows, but his voice is still raw. “So badly.”

“Do you-” the words feel thick in Rey’s throat, they almost stick. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.” His hand trembles on hers. “But I don’t deserve that.”

Rey looks at Ben sharply, sensing the tip of an iceberg. The mouth of a maze. A lock, maybe, that’s in need of a key. She thinks about the want in his face, the rough way he’d handled her just minutes ago- like a child quickly cramming down sweets that he knows are forbidden. But forbidden by whom? 

“I want you to touch me,” Rey says. “I just was surprised. What you just did-” she pauses, thinking “-was  _ at  _ me, not  _ with  _ me.” 

Ben looks away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again. 

“How do you need it?” she asks, voice low.

Ben’s jaw works, emotions struggling across his face. “I need to get this energy out,” he says tensely. “I need to drown everything out.”

“Like how?”

His eyes darken, even in the constant lamp light. “I want- I don’t want to hurt you, I just need-”

Rey imagines the energy it takes, the self-hatred it takes, to make yourself run for miles multiple times a day. To push yourself to the point of not eating, not showering, not speaking, becoming the walking dead. She can  _ see  _ the stress in Ben’s body; it’s going to eat him up from the inside if he can’t direct it somewhere else.

Rey gently frees her hand from his. Then she pushes up his shirt to bare the pale skin, and slowly rakes her fingernails down his abs. Normally it would be a more playful move, but tonight she really digs in, leaving light red trails.

Ben lets out a shuddering groan. “ _ Yes _ ,” he says, a dreadful hope in his eyes.

Some dark current swirls inside Rey. A key that could fit a lock.

“That feels good?” she asks softly. She shifts closer to him on the bed. Ben just nods.

Rey scrapes her nails down his hip. “And that?”

Ben nods again, stomach rising and falling quickly. His eyes flicker over her face. “But I-” he says, hesitating.

“But what?” Rey lies down on her side, facing him. Runs her hand along his skin.

Ben shakes his head and tries to pull back.

“What?” Rey coaxes, following him. Refusing to let him go.

Ben convulsively grabs her wrist, hard. “I can’t,” he says tightly. “It’s not right.”

“Why not?” Rey moves closer, nearly on top of him now. Ben’s eyelids fall half-mast, his lips parting open. 

“I don’t deserve to,” he says, breathing harder now. He drops her wrist and grabs her waist instead.

“Yes, you do,” Rey soothes, moving into his arms.

“No, I don’t.” Ben’s voice is choked. At odds with his words, he rolls them both onto their sides, fingers like claws in the softness of her hips. He buries his face in her hair.

“But I want you,” Rey whispers, her own hands biting into his shoulders.

“No-”

“I  _ want  _ you,” she growls, grabbing him by the chin and pulling him close.

Ben looks desperate, wrecked, pupils consuming his eyes. “I’m no good,” he says, like a plea.

“You’re so good,” she murmurs back. Pulls his face back down against her neck. “Do it again.”

He shakes his head, trembling. “Shouldn’t.”

“Please-”

“Shouldn’t-”

“Ben-”

“I  _ want to _ ,” he grits out, almost a sob.

She twists a lock of his hair, tugging his scalp. He gasps on her skin. “Please,” she murmurs, repeating her words from before. “Let me take care of you, Ben.”

Ben helplessly moans. Then he finally bites down as he’s told: hard,  _ harder  _ than he had the first time. Rey cries out, wrapping her legs tight around him, all her senses on fire with  _ contact. _

Ben groans through his teeth, vibrating Rey’s neck, then lurches her onto her back, still attached. Heat throbs in Rey’s cunt as her back slams into the mattress. Ben releases his grip almost angrily, pulls back to stare down into her face. “Like that?” he bites out.

“Yes,” she breathes.

He reaches down, grabs the fall of her hair, twists it hard in his hand. His eyes are black. “Like that, Rey?”

She exhales shakily, smiling. “You can do that to me. I trust you.”

Ben blanches. His hand trembles but he doesn’t let go. “You shouldn’t,” he says miserably, still staring at her. “I hurt people, Rey. People I-” he cuts himself off, looks down at the bed.

Rey cradles his face with both hands; Ben shivers but stills. “You can hurt me,” she tells him. “I told you already: I’d want it to be you.”

Ben hesitates, if only a moment. The two of them hang on the edge of a precipice: two bruises touching, the trapped blood almost mingling. Then he says, voice gone to gravel: “If you want me to stop, you’ll tell me?”

Rey nods. “I’ll say ‘Plutt,’” she says. “Believe me,” she adds dryly, “if I say that then I’m definitely not in the mood.” Ben meets her level gaze; hunger and pain and self-loathing war in his eyes. She can see when his conflict resolves.

“Turn off the light,” he says firmly. He releases her hair and sits back on the bed.

Rey stretches out to comply, then falls back onto the mattress. She stays pliant, willing to let Ben take the lead. In the dark, she hears him shuck off his shirt and shorts. Then his hands fall on her, peeling her pants and underwear off; his movements are efficient, barely impeded by his trembling hands. Ben starts to pull off Rey’s shirt, too, but doesn’t remove it completely. He leaves it bunched over her head, only her mouth left uncovered.

“It’s easier if you don’t look at me,” he says, almost a whisper.

“Ok,” Rey says, wetting her lips. It’s just the two of them now, naked on the bed in the dark. The night feels unnaturally silent. Her body tingles as if it can physically feel Ben looking her over, wondering where to start. Anticipation and the beginnings of excitement swirl in Rey’s gut and make her muscles tense slightly.

Then it begins.

The air shifts and Rey senses Ben’s body leaning over hers. He touches her hungrily, fingers sliding across her bared skin. She shivers, trying and failing not to respond. His hand gradually moves to envelop her breast. At first he just holds it, thumb stroking its smooth underside, but slowly he squeezes, harder, harder, and  _ harder _ . Rey gasps lightly, wiggling. It’s like the blood pressure wrap around her arm at the doctor’s: slowly constricting to the point of near-pain, bearable and yet unbearable. Ben clenches her breast in his hand at that unbearable point, then lets go all at once. Rey hears him exhale shakily above her; her blood pumps back through her chest, making her skin buzz and flush. Her lips part.

Ben repeats the action, this time with both breasts and his fingers set around her nipples. As he increases the pressure and the pinch, Rey’s spine arches off of the bed.

“Ah...ah... _ ah! _ ”

Ben holds it for longer than she thinks she can stand, then lets go with another trembling breath. Rey whimpers aloud, but her whole body feels like it’s pulsing. Her mind’s eye imagines his face, flushed and intent.

Ben’s hands move south, running along her ribs in a gentle trace at first, then slowing and applying pressure; it’s terrifying and exhilarating in equal parts to feel both his strength and restraint. He drags his palms along her sides like he’s going to pull the skin off, take her apart. Back and forth, building a fire. Demanding more touch, more feel, more _her_. His nails hook along her ribs and an inarticulate cry falls past Rey’s lips. Her fingers clench into the mattress and a crazy spike of heat lances between her legs as he rakes down. Is he drawing blood? Rey’s brain doesn’t know how to construe what’s happening to her; the pressure and pain is jumbling with pleasure. She feels roused and aroused, hurt and wanted and _touched._

She can still hear Ben breathing above her, ragged and deep above her own light panting. His crotch briefly presses against her thigh and she feels just how badly he wants this to happen. It makes her groan aloud, but Ben remains uncharacteristically silent.

He slides down her body; she feels the heat of his breathing against her skin, the rake of his nails down her chest. He bites the side of her stomach lightly, teeth dragging the tender fat and making her whimper. His nose travels the natural V from her belly towards her crotch, and his warm lips hover just over Rey’s hipbone. She tenses, waiting. Ben kisses her skin first, almost apologetic. Then he closes his teeth on the hipbone, biting down slowly with increasing pressure. Rey’s legs squirm, unconsciously trying to rub her thighs together. Ben is lying in the way, though, so she wraps her legs around him instead. His teeth clench down, fierce, and her forearms tremble from gripping the mattress so hard.

“Ben!” she gasps, clutching the sheets. His teeth feel like they’re breaking the skin, but she doesn’t say ‘Plutt’ and he doesn’t stop. When he does release her, her whole body sags, trembling. Her panting breaths are almost sobs, and he licks a warm stripe over the site, kissing away the copper-salt blood. Then moves to the other side.

Minutes later, Rey’s hips are littered with love bites, her chest heaving wildly and her vagina indecently soaked. Ben has started pinching her nipple at the same time he bites to distract her, sending pain-pleasure signals rocketing through Rey’s brain. Willing herself still, not to push him away, is such a trial, it’s a rush. Her body is a blaze of anticipation, tuned in utterly to whatever her silent lover does next.

Without warning, Ben slips two fingers into her cunt, testing her, and Rey whines into the air. He sucks in a harsh breath; it’s obscene, how easily they slide in. Ben bends his head to suck hard at her clit and her back arches crazily, like a strung puppet. 

“Mine,” he pants softly, breath hot over her curls. “ _ Mine _ ,” he growls in defiance, slurping her slick like a half-starved beast. Then he actually  _ bites  _ at her swollen lips, blood-stained teeth slipping along her wet inner walls, and Rey screams a swear into the air. Her thighs shudder as he laves the sore site with his tongue, then moves up to gingerly nibble her clit. 

Rey sobs with pleasure. She cannot stand this. She never wants it to end.

Ben pulls back, abrupt. “Turn over,” he says.

Rey starts to comply, but her limbs are too slack after all of the tension and release. When she takes too long, Ben flips her over, and his hands don’t leave her body. He rakes his nails down her shoulder blades, down the sweet curve of her spine. She’s sweating, a little, in the hollows.

Ben pulls Rey’s legs apart and she obligingly lets him; she can’t help but grind down onto the bed, trying to relieve her internal pressure. Ben squeezes her ass, fistfuls of flesh, then draws back his hands to slap her there, hard. Rey gasps in small wispy breaths. Ben bends down and sucks a kiss on her ass, one finger reaching below to touch her wet entrance between her legs.

“You like this,” he says soft as silk. Both prompt and statement.

“Yes,” she breathes into the air.

Ben bites her again, to the point Rey is whimpering with pain, but his clever fingers are also inside of her, probing. She feels both things, combining in overwhelming ways. Then he softens his bite to a messy kiss, full lips soothing her tender ass. Rey sighs with pleasure...until he pulls her crotch high by the cunt, fingers still hooked within her. Rey gasps at the pull, and gasps again, louder, when he withdraws his fingers and slaps flat on her cunt.

“Good,” Ben murmurs against her flesh. He swats her again, stinging her swollen lips. “You’re so good.”

“G-ood,” Rey agrees, voice faint but heated. Ben’s teeth plunge back into her skin, and his fingers return to fondle her clit. Her knees buckle. “Ah! That’s good, Ben.”

He hums. His large fingers slide in her juices, flicking her clit. Rey pulses back towards him, and Ben nuzzles his way from her ass to the pucker between those cheeks. She cries out, blushing, when he licks her there; they haven’t explored it before, and now he’s delving his tongue through the furrow, hand slapping her cunt to contrast the tickling.

“Please,” Rey pants, sweating. “Touch me more-” 

Ben pulls away and she keens, bereft.

But not for long. Ben pulls her legs further apart, then draws near, a furnace of heat. Rey moans in thanks as the blunt head of his cock pushes against her cunt from the back, and then it’s inside her, easing along on a slick path wrought by pain as much as pleasure.

Ben gasps abruptly, sounding overwhelmed. He grabs a pillow from above Rey’s head and shoves it under Rey’s hips, jolting them both, then enters again and  _ leans _ his full weight into her, letting his bulk and gravity push him in to the hilt. Rey chokes out a cry, straining to hold all of him inside herself. He feels so thick from this angle. Ben grabs her sore hips and Rey yelps again, but Ben uses the leverage to press deeper, pushing himself so hard into her that her ass is spread almost flat against his thighs.

“Rey,” he chokes out. He’s shaking like mad. “Sweetheart.”

Still pressed against her, Ben deliberately swirls his hips, swimming his cock in a thick circle inside of her; his girth presses against the walls of her cunt, shooting pleasure up Rey’s spine. Rey groans, lost. Ben continues that movement, long cock practically stirring her insides. Then he pulls back abruptly, only to  _ slam  _ himself back in to the hilt. Rey cries out and his fingers scrape across her bare shoulders as he resumes stirring. She’s only just recovered when he does it again, and again, spine-curling slams followed by an intense swim of his hips. Rey’s brain melts under the pressure; she starts to think she’s always been a pancake beneath him, a vessel for his cock, a body stirred until it collapses in pleasure.

“Ben, please,” she sobs, not knowing what she pleads for.

But Ben knows. He lies down nearly flat on top of her, utterly covering her. His thighs close outside hers, his chest molds to her back. They shudder in tandem, like they share the same skin. He starts shoving himself into her, deep, pulsing strokes that push animal noises out of Rey.

“Be mine,” he whispers. “Please, Rey. Let me, let me...”

“Please,” echoes Rey, near-tears with the sensation of him, the closeness.

Ben plugs at her slowly, building a deep burn in the walls of Rey’s cunt. She’s disoriented when he finally stops, rolling them both over onto their sides. Her t-shirt falls away from her head, but Rey’s eyes are still squeezed shut. He drapes one of her pliable legs up and over his own, then keeps fucking her slow, cock less deep now but still jutting from her, while one hand comes around to clench on her breasts. He tweaks her sore nipples.

“Touch yourself,” he says thickly against her ear.

Rey obeys shakily, feeling fried. Her fingers slide around in her own juices. Touching herself almost immediately sets off a trembling orgasm, and she clenches around Ben, crying out. His hand that isn’t on her breast grabs her hip, grounding her with the pain.

“Want to fill you,” he says in her ear. His voice is intense, demanding, pleading. “Take my fingers,” he begs, “take my cock, take me...”

“Yes,” whispers Rey, right before Ben’s fingers leave her hip and push into her mouth. She breathes heavily through her nose, overwhelmed. He’s pinching, he’s fucking, he’s holding her tongue...then the man that she loves bites the nape of her neck where the hairline might hide it. Rey cries out, muffled, around the fingers in her mouth. Her soaked cunt shudders into what’s either another orgasm or just some endless run of pleasure that’s overtaken her body. Ben worries at her nape like a dog with a bone, pushing her on. He drops his fingers from her breast to dig into her bruised hips again; Rey gives a hoarse shout but so does Ben, hips stuttering, his orgasm exploding inside her. He cries out with each aftershock, shuddering behind her. Rey grabs onto him; she’s the one grounding him now. She supposes she has been this whole time.

“Rey,” Ben moans, dazed. He grabs her hand, tightly laces their fingers. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“I’m here,” Rey pants. She reaches back to touch his face, too fucked out to turn. “I promise. I promise, I’m here.”

They stay like that for a long time, until their breathing stops rattling in their throats. Until Ben softens enough that his cock slips out and Rey feels his cum slipping warmly out over her thighs. Maybe they even sleep for a while; Ben is still weak from his self-imposed penance, his body worn down by the effort of bridging the distance between them.

Finally, though, Ben stirs and nuzzles the back of her neck. His hands drift to Rey’s crotch and stroke lightly at her. Rey lets him, enjoying the simplicity of uncomplicated pleasure. He slides his fingers along her cunt, using his own cum as lubricant to aimlessly circle her clit. Rey sighs and relaxes, spreading her legs lightly; Ben licks at her ear.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, a tremor of worry shaking his voice.

“Yes,” she says simply. “Do you feel better?” she asks, fingers still stroking his cheek.

“Yes,” he says faintly. “Yes.”

—-

They have sex one more time, face to face, before leaving the bed. Ben holds himself up over Rey, too drained to move much, just letting Rey rock herself onto his length while she strokes her hands over her body. 

“Sweetness,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers. “What do you need?” He lowers his lips to her cheek, a barely-there kiss. “Do you need more cock?”

“Gently,” Rey pants, even as she nods. “Gentle, please.”

“I can be that,” he whispers, and he sweetly suckles her neck and pushes deeper in.

Afterwards, Ben carries Rey to the bathroom since her whole torso and bottom half feel like ground meat; he’s so weak himself, but he insists. He runs a shower and she stands under the flow, soaking, while Ben looks over the deep bruises he’s left, face drawn, and soaps her up gently. The feel of his hands stroking her wet skin lulls Rey almost to sleep. So does the feeling, after the shower, of Ben gently administering Neosporin to the places his teeth had broken her skin. He devotes himself utterly to this work: he caresses each bruise, kisses each hurt, murmurs to Rey that she’s so sweet, so perfect, so good, so wanted, until she feels like she’s glowing under his touch.

“Couldn’t you do this for yourself?” she asks softly, watching him through half-closed eyes.

Ben’s hands pause. He simply shakes his head.

“That’s ok,” Rey says to him and herself. “I’ve got you.”

He smiles then, a little, and bends back to his task. Rey is dozily reminded of the old nursery rhyme:

_ All the king’s horses and all the king’s men… _

But in the rhyme, Humpty Dumpty, the great broken egg, can’t be put back together again. Despite all their efforts, in spite of the colorful band-aids they taped onto his head in the children’s book illustrations. Watching Ben, Rey thinks that will not be her fate. She thinks that Ben hurt her so that he could fix her.

She thinks she can be the one egg Ben un-cracks. 

But Rey doesn’t sleep yet. There’s light coming in through the window, faint gray but present, and for the first time in hours Rey wonders what time it is.

“Can you get my phone?” she mumbles.

Ben reluctantly leaves her side, but he comes back from the living room with both her phone and, she’s relieved to see, a splotch of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. He must have eaten the rest of the pasta on the coffee table.

Rey takes her phone and drafts an apologetic email to the school, letting them know that she’s sick and won’t be coming in today. Then she tosses her phone to the floor.

“I’m not going in tomorrow,” she tells him, pulling the sheets up to cover her still-naked body. “Or today. Whenever.”

Ben pulls himself in next to her. He tucks her body against his own, and everything is quiet and safe and right in the world again.

Almost.

Rey is too tired not to ask. She reaches back and touches his face, voice a little hesitant. “If I make breakfast tomorrow, will you help me eat it?” 

“Of course,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder. He sounds half-asleep already.

“And if I want to talk about what happened at Snoke’s…?” Rey’s voice trails off. Ben’s body stills behind her briefly. Then he pulls her more tightly to him.

“One thing at a time, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends- thank you all so much for your amazing comments on last chapter! I was so nervous about that one and you all have been the best readers anyone could ask for <3 I am also a bit nervous about this one! I meant to publish it earlier, since I've had the bones of this chapter written since Chapter 10...it's actually the writing I reference in the notes that I was really proud of at the time. HOWEVER, I've been on vacation and had less time for writing than expected, and I had to seriously rework this chapter. Mostly it was tough to figure out everyone's motivations. Ben wants Rey, but he's so turned around that he hates himself for wanting her...Rey wants Ben, but I wanted to nod at her own very real abandonment issues...it just was a lot to convey!
> 
> Also, disclaimer: Sex does not cure all ills. People suffering from depression are often actually very turned off of sex at the time since they have much more important concerns weighing them down. That being said, I decided that healing for these two needed to include sex. For Ben, sex with Rey represents him reconnecting with the world and recognizing the needs of his body again. For Rey, she's missed him and also wants to show him that she still desires him even at his worst. It made sense to me that the sex is rough because Ben is also in a really rough place and forcefully overcoming his mental barriers.
> 
> Obviously there's still stuff for these two to talk about, but I hope this chapter gives you all some hope in the meantime <3
> 
> ADDED 12/31/20:  
> Hi everyone, I’m just dropping a line to say that this fic isn’t abandoned; it’s resting. I know how this fic ends and how we’ll get there, and I want to do it (and this Rey and Ben) justice. To me it feels like just weeks, not months, since I’ve updated, but I know it can feel like forever when you’re waiting for something you want. I suggest you subscribe so you’ll get the update as soon as it hits! I’ve been really overloaded these past several months, but can’t wait to get back to this world ASAP. Thanks, as always, for reading ❤️
> 
> Much love,  
> Doorkeeper


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